


Second Chances

by Snobird



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-01-27
Updated: 2017-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-20 05:19:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 22,681
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9477311
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Snobird/pseuds/Snobird
Summary: Several years after Mary's death John decides he's ready to bring love back into his life, but the person he's beginning to fall in love with isn't who he would have expected. As John's feelings for his best friend, Sherlock, begin to become more than platonic he must decide whether he can admit the nature of his affections to himself and if he can admit this to Sherlock. If they decide to explore a relationship where will it lead?(Johnlock with lots of fluff and some angsty bits to balance it out basically)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Just as a note I had really no idea what to make of the whole Eurus/ Euros business so this is following cannon up to TLD and leaving off TFP (because really wtf was that episode?).  
> Thanks so much for reading and all comments are very appreciated! <3

“Well John, we’re waiting?” Sherlock prompted impatiently.  


“Sorry, um... Did you check the wallet for her ID?” John replied distractedly, trying to drag himself away from his upsetting train of thought.  


“I just told you neither wallet or purse had any identification, were you even listening?” Sherlock snapped.  


“Sorry, er…” John trailed off, he really needed to pull himself together.  


He and Sherlock had been called to a case by Lestrade: a dead woman found in an alley, just off a busy shopping street, lots of blood and two purses so possibly there was another victim somewhere. It might have been a robbery but the fact the diamond engagement ring was still on the woman’s finger and both the purses they’d found had wallets with money (although it wasn’t much) but no ID’s, pointed towards this being more than just a random crime. That was what made the case interesting to Sherlock and it was why he and John were currently in the alley with Lestrade and his team, trying to lend a hand.  


However the piece of the case that was grabbing John’s attention at the moment was the fact that the victim was a woman with shoulder-length, curly, blonde hair and she was laying there, dead, with a bullet hole in her chest. She didn’t look remarkably similar to Mary, she was several years younger than Mary had been for one thing, but it was still a similar enough scene that it brought painful flashbacks for John. Even after years had passed, the wound that losing Mary had left on his heart was still raw. He knew he should’ve been able to face this sight calmly, to be reminded of her without feeling like he was about to fall apart completely right there at the scene of a murder, but he couldn’t seen to tamp down the emotions and tears that were rising within him. He tried to breathe evenly and settle himself but he knew it was no use and he couldn’t start crying here in front of everyone. He had to get out, go home where he could ride out the tide of fresh grief in private.  


“I’m sorry… I’m not feeling so well all of a sudden,” John said, trying to sound calm and collected. “I think I’d better get a taxi and head home.”  


“Well alright, I suppose we can handle this one, eh Sherlock?” Lestrade said. THen he gave John a pat on the shoulder, “Feel better mate, and don’t hesitate to call if you need anything.”  


“Thanks,” John said shakily. He turned and walked out of the alley toward the main road to hail a cab.  


Sherlock, who had been kneeling, inspecting the dead woman’s body for clues, stood up and watched John walk away. He had a thoughtful look on his face as though he was still thinking about the case, or perhaps he was solving another puzzle, but his deduction skills were clearly hard at work.  


“So… Any ideas?” Lestrade asked hopefully after a moment  


Sherlock turned away from the direction he had been staring, where John had just disappeared from the alley. He went over to Lestrade and spoke very quickly. “All of the victim's clothes and both purses are the same brand so chances are she works there, employee discount or she probably wouldn’t be able to afford it judging by the contents of her wallet, might even be required to wear the store’s products, I suggest you visit their shop down the street and ask if anyone’s not shown up for work today,” Sherlock told Lestrade. “Contact me in a couple hours with an update if you need further assistance, right now I have more pressing matters.” And with that he ran after John.  


“John, wait,” Sherlock called when he spotted his friend.  


John turned away from the cab he’d been hailing and looked back, surprised to see Sherlock had left the case to come after him.  


“I’m er… feeling a bit peckish, do you want to um…” Sherlock gestured toward the cafe just behind him.  


John was about to say no, he was not in the mood for lunch, but something about Sherlock standing there made him pause. Perhaps it was the sheer surprise that his friend had left a case to chase after him or perhaps it was the nervous, hopeful look on Sherlock’s face, but for whatever reason, John acquiesced. “Yeah okay,” John replied in a tired voice, following Sherlock toward the restaurant, still a bit bewildered by his friend’s behavior.  


They were greeted by a cheery, older waitress as they entered, “Sit wherever you like loves, menus are on the table.”  


“This is funny, you know,” John commented suspiciously, as they sat down and picked up their menus, “Because you never get hungry.”  


“I’m human John, of course I get hungry,” Sherlock replied with his usual slightly exasperated tone.  


“No, you’re Sherlock Holmes and you forget about food all the time,” John retorted feeling a bit annoyed himself.  


“Do you think they’d have good fish and chips here?” Sherlock asked looking down at the menu as if he hadn’t heard John’s last comment. “Sandwich is probably safer though…” he added after a moment.  


“Why are you changing the subject?” John persisted.  


“Perhaps because I find your line of conversation boring, John,” Sherlock replied cooly.  


“No, no... We were talking about you... and you love talking about yourself,” John said slowly, thinking outloud. “You’re trying to keep something from me… We’re here for some reason other than you being hungry and you don’t want to tell me what it is,” John finished, somewhat proud of having deduced the motivations of the original master of deduction.  


“Don’t be ridiculous,” said Sherlock, although he seemed a bit less cool and more flustered now. “Where’s that waitress…”  


Right on cue, the waitress appeared. “Ready to order loves?” she asked.  


“Yes, two roast beef sandwiches please,” Sherlock replied promptly.  


“Right-o, it’ll just be a minute,” the waitress said with a smile and then she turned and left.  


“I can order for myself, you know,” John said, irritated.  


“Of course you can, but I can also order for you and it speeds up the process,” Sherlock replied brightly, flashing John an overly cheerful, somewhat mocking, smile. “Now, let’s talk about something: How’s Rosie?”  


“Hang on,” John said, angry now. “You still haven’t told me why we’re here. Is it about that case we just left? Because I really just can’t… I can’t do that case right now, Sherlock,” John felt himself getting emotional again and, just thinking about the body of the blonde woman laying there, and he took a deep breathe, trying to control himself.  


“No, no, it has nothing to do with the case,” Sherlock said quickly. “Let’s not think about that now, hm?” He smiled at John again and this time it was genuine and warm.  


John looked at his friend and he knew Sherlock understood. “That’s why we’re here isn’t it?” he said quietly, “You knew seeing that woman reminded me… of Mary.”  


“It reminded me of her too,” Sherlock said with an uncharacteristic softness.  


John smiled sadly. “Thank you,” he said.  


“For what?” Sherlock asked.  


“For getting it, for getting that it’s still hard sometimes even though it happened years ago now… And for trying to help by distracting me or cheering me up or whatever,” John replied. They sat quietly for a moment, both sad, but glad to have someone to share their sadness with.  “Rosie’s good,” John broke the silence, trying to steer the conversation back to normal.  


“That’s good to hear,” Sherlock replied, following John’s lead and letting the previous moment pass without further comment.  


The rest of their lunch conversation was, like the roast beef sandwiches, rather banal. They chatted about Rosie starting dance classes, how John was liking his new hours at the the surgery, Sherlock’s latest experiments on the effects on the body and traces left by red versus white wine. When they’d finished their meal and paid they went back out to the street and John hailed another cab.  


“Thanks again,” he turned and said to Sherlock as he got in.  


“Anytime, John,” Sherlock replied, giving him another genuine, sympathetic smile.  


John’s body filled with a warm feeling at the sight of that smile. He had to admit, Sherlock did have a nice smile, when he meant it and he wasn’t making fun of John, that is. Why had he never noticed it before? Perhaps because Sherlock did spend so much time making fun of him. At any rate, he’d noticed it now. Although his heart was heavy with grief for Mary, seeing Sherlock smile at him like that made John feel a little lighter, and he couldn’t help grinning to himself a little as he rode home in the back of the taxi.


	2. Chapter 2

“Pick up the phone, please pick up,” John prayed through gritted teeth. The dial tone blared in his ear as he held his mobile with his shoulder in order to keep both hands on the wheel of the car.  


“John? Why are you calling me?” Sherlock sounded genuinely confused when he answered. John chuckled slightly, knowing Sherlock really didn’t understand why his even best friend would be phoning him when there was such a thing as texting. Sherlock’s little social quirks were really quite endearing  


“I need you to do me a favor, if you aren’t busy,” John said.  


There was a pause and then Sherlock asked, “Yes, what is it?”  


John felt bad for imposing on his friend like this but under the circumstances he didn’t have much choice. “I just got off work at the surgery and I was headed to pick up Rosie but there was some huge accident,” John explained. “They’ve closed off roads; traffic is awful. So if I text you the address do you think you could get Rosie from school for me?”  


“Of course not a problem,” Sherlock replied.  


“Thank you so much,” John said, grateful and relieved. “I’ll come by Baker Street and get her as soon as I can.”  


“Fine. I’ll see you then,” Sherlock replied sounding unconcerned. He hung up the call before John had a chance to apologize or thank him again, however, leaving John to struggle through the traffic jam worrying over whether or not Sherlock was annoyed with him.  
****************************** 

“Sherlock!” Rosie squealed as she came tearing across the schoolyard.  


“Oh yes, hello,” Sherlock said, somewhat surprised, as Rosie threw her arms around him, hugging his knees. “You’re daddy’s stuck in some bad traffic so you get to come home with me for a bit, does that sound fun?” Sherlock asked her cheerfully.  


Rosie nodded, looking up a Sherlock with a grin.  


“Alright then, take my hand and we’ll head home,” Sherlock instructed, smiling at her.  


“Excuse me,” a young woman called out as she them. She was nicely dressed and had a sweet but very proper, meticulous air about her. Sherlock and Rosie stopped and turned to look at her as she approached them. When she reached them, the young woman introduced herself to Sherlock, “I’m Rosie’s teacher, Ms Jones,” she said.     


“Charming,” Sherlock said in return, feigning politeness, “I’m Sherlock Holmes; I’m a friend of Dr. Watson’s.”  


“And you were going to take Rosie home for him, today?” the teacher questioned, keeping her tone light.  


Sherlock felt that this was fairly obvious but to be courteous he replied, “Yes.”  


“Well that might be a bit of a problem,” Ms Jones said, her sweet tone and smile, not matching her words. “You see only family members and those authorized by family members are allowed to take the children home from school, for safety reasons, you understand, and I’m afraid you are neither of those things,” she explained apologetically.  


“Well, John is held up in traffic and he asked me to pick up his daughter for him. Rosie, clearly knows me and is comfortable with me watching her until father is able to come retrieve her, but if you’d like I can call John and he can explain the whole situation to you,” Sherlock told her, adopting a falsely chipper air.  


“That would be helpful yes,” Ms Jones agreed. “And put Dr Watson on speaker if you could so I can hear the whole conversation.”  


“Of course,” Sherlock assured her, overdoing it slightly in his attempted pleasantness. He dialed John’s number on his mobile and put the call on speaker. After two rings, John picked up.  


“Sherlock? What’s wrong? Are you on your way to get Rosie?” John asked, sounding alarmed. He was worried both by the fact that Sherlock was calling and by the fact that as he’d looked away from the road to answer his phone, the car in front of him had stopped suddenly and he’d almost crashed into it.  


“Everything’s fine, John, I’m at the school now, actually,” Sherlock replied evenly. “Rosie’s teacher just needed some confirmation that it was ok for me to take her home so they asked me to give you a call.”  


“Oh Christ, that school is so bloody uptight and official about everything. There was probably some form I was supposed to list you on, just let me take to them,” John said frustratedly.  


“You’re on speaker, John, so you are talking to them, right now,” Sherlock said, trying not to find the situation amusing and glancing up at see the teacher’s reaction.  


“Oh hell,” John muttered in defeat.  


“Dr. Watson, this is Ms Jones.” The young woman seemed more embarrassed by the whole situation, than annoyed. “I’m sorry to be bothering you-”  


John cut in. “No, no, it’s no bother. I’m glad you’re being cautious, of course,” he said tiredly.  


“It sounds like it’s alright for Rosie to go home with Mr. Holmes then? That’s ok with you?” Ms Jones asked John kindly.  


“Yes, yes, I asked him to pick her up, it’s fine,” John replied.  


“Alright then,” Ms Jones said firmly with a nod to Sherlock.  


“Thank you, John, I’ll see you in an hour or so,” Sherlock signed off and hung up. In his car, John gave a long, exhausted sigh.  
********************************** 

“Hey, I’m finally here,” John said loudly as he opened the door to 221b, surprised not to find Sherlock and Rosie in the front room.  


“Daddy!” Rosie’s excited voice yelped from upstairs. Then John heard her quicker, smaller footsteps on the stairs followed by Sherlock’s heavier, slower ones.  


“Sherlock was teaching me how to do deduction stuff,” Rosie proclaimed excitedly to her father, as she ran into the room.  


“Oh really?” John said.  


“I thought it would be better if she played in the guest room considering the state of things down here,” Sherlock explained as he walked in after Rosie. John looked around then, and realized that Sherlock’s experiments and research had taken over the whole main floor of the flat. There were chemicals, bones (probably human), a couple of knives and some rather frightening images of corpses, scattered everywhere.  


“Yeah, not exactly child friendly, is it?” John joked. Then a question dawned on him, “What guestroom?” he asked.  


“It’s your old room,” Sherlock replied.  


“Ah,” John said with a nod. This made sense, of course, and John knew he had no right to be bothered by it. He had been the one to move out, after all. Somehow it still hurt him, though, thinking about Sherlock removing the idea of John Watson from 221b. He sighed. “Why don’t you go get your things from upstairs so we can head out,” he said to Rosie, and she obediently head back up the stairs.  


“So you were teaching her deduction stuff?” John asked Sherlock, once Rosie had left.  


Sherlock shrugged. “She asked me what I liked to. I said 'play the violin and solve crimes' and she thought the second of those things sounded much more interesting,” he explained mildly. “She was a bit of a natural.” Then he smiled slyly. “She’s quite bright for her age, but then of course we know where she gets her smarts from,” Sherlock said smoothly.  


John rolled his eyes, “Yes we do; Mary because it’s not from me,” he said, irritated and not in the mood for Sherlock’s jokes at his expense.  


Sherlock looked hurt by this. “Well yes, she gets it from Mary, but I meant you too, John,” Sherlock said sounding offended and surprised by John’s interpretation of his remark. “You’re one of the most intelligent people I’ve ever met,” he added very sincerely.  


John turned a deep red. So it wasn’t a joke. Of course it wasn’t, Sherlock wasn’t that mean. Right now he was actually being quite complimentary and John felt bad for assuming Sherlock was trying to be cruel when his was just being nice.  


John also felt extremely pleased that Sherlock was calling him smart. He wanted to say so but he couldn’t find the words all of a sudden. He felt all flustered and he was still blushing like a schoolgirl when Rosie reappeared.  


“I’m all ready to go,” she chirped.  


“Alright, well I suppose we’d better head out then,” John said to her, and with that Rosie ran off to get in the car. John looked up at Sherlock to say goodbye but again found himself lost for words.  


“You’d better go after her,” Sherlock said with a playful smirk.  


“Right,” John replied, God this day had worn him out. “Thanks again,” he mumbled with a final nod to Sherlock as he left the flat.  


“Anytime, John, anytime,” Sherlock called after him in response.  
   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm easing into things a bit slowly with the romance I know but next chapter will be a real date... well sort of. Thanks for reading, kudos-ing and commenting is also appreciated! <3


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock go on a date... sort of.

John drummed his fingers on the bartop and gazed at the now empty pint glass sitting before him.  


“Got stood up, uh mate?” the bartender asked, reading the situation in a flash when he came over to take John’s glass.  


“Afraid so,” John replied gloomily.  


“Ah well, chin up. Happens to the best of us,” the bartender told him in an understanding, good-natured tone. “I’ll close out your check then?”  


“Yeah, thanks,” John replied, tiredly. He paid, stood up to leave and almost bumped into the person standing behind him, probably waiting for his seat at the bar. John muttered an apology, “Sorry, didn’t see you.”  


“Quite alright, John,” a familiar voice said crisply. “But since we’re both here why don’t we sit back down and have another pint? This one’s on me.” Sherlock took the stool next to the one John had just vacated and flagged over the bartender. “We’ll have two more pints of whatever my companion here was just drinking,” Sherlock requested promptly.  


The bartender gave John, who had stood watching all of this with a blank, dazed expression, a knowing smile. “He may be late but at least he’s payin’, uh mate? Not such a bad date after all!” the man chuckled.  


“No he’s no my…” John trailed off as the bartender went to get their drinks, seeming not to have heard him. John sat down at the bar, not looking at Sherlock. “Mind telling me how you knew I was coming here tonight and why you decided it was a good idea to be here too when I was on a date?” John asked, annoyed that Sherlock was meddling in his private life.  


“Isn’t it possible I just wanted a drink and picked this spot coincidently?” Sherlock questioned in an overly innocent voice.  


“With the average person, it might be, but with you? No, so fess up Sherlock,” John snapped at his friend. The bartender brought over their beers and John immediately took a swig of his, he was going to need it to deal with Sherlock tonight.  


“Alright, I may have know you were meeting someone here tonight, yes,” Sherlock admitted, sounding disappointed that this was the way the conversation was turning.  


“How?,” John interrupted his friend’s explanation. “How on earth could you know that? Sarah, from the surgery, set this date up for me; I was meeting a friend of hers. You don’t know her so she couldn’t have told you. And I certainly didn’t tell you so how the hell did you find out?” John was anger was only made worse by his confusion over how the detective had managed it.  


“I read your texts,” his friend replied simply. John gave him a shocked look and Sherlock added with exasperated disbelief, “Oh come on John, don’t pretend your passcode isn’t the simplest thing in the world to guess.”  


0518\. His and Mary’s wedding anniversary. John had not thought this was very easy to guess because who bothered to remember other people’s wedding anniversaries? Most people forgot their own for Christ’s sake! But of course Sherlock, as he had said moments ago, was not ‘most people’.  


John wanted to be really mad about the blatant invasion of privacy, but he found he felt somewhat touched by the fact that Sherlock and remember his and Mary’s special day. His friend knew him well. And just thinking about Mary calmed him down too; she had always been willing to give Sherlock a chance, even when he was being particularly impossible.  


“Ok,” John said, composed now. “So you knew about my date, but why did you come here? Were you going to try to join us?”  


“No, no,” Sherlock said, almost laughing at the ridiculousness of this suggestion. “I was simply going to, shall we say… vet your date, from a distance, through skilled observation, to see if she was deserving of your attentions,” Sherlock explained coolly.  


“You were going to spy on us?” John asked skeptically.  


“Spy is such a nasty word,” Sherlock complained.  


“But that that’s what you were going to do,” John said evenly. “Most people would be bothered by that, you realize.”  


“The average person might know that but me? Never,” Sherlock smiled slightly at his little joke. Then he looked at John and added smoothly, “Anyway, you aren’t really ‘most people’ either, are you John?”  


John blushed furiously and turned his attentions to his drink, hoping he could pass off his reddened complexion as an effect of the alcohol. He knew he had every right to be pissed at Sherlock and any sane person probably would be pretty upset at this point. But that was not what he felt. He felt flattered that Sherlock was calling the two of them special and similar, putting both of them in the same, above average category. He knew Sherlock hated average people and it felt good to be considered on the detective's level, better than the boring, everyday masses. He also felt… distracted, perhaps, by the sly smile his friend had just flashed him when he made this last comment about John not being ‘most people’ either. He felt the need to not look at his friend but instead have another swallow of his beer because that almost mischievous smile was preventing him from thinking clearly. He realized it was the same flustered feeling from the other day when Sherlock had called him smart.  


“Well, considering how the date turned out, I suppose I’m glad you showed up,” John admitted, still unable to look at his friend.  


“It was a blind date, John, set up by a work colleague who was being rather pushy about the whole thing,” Sherlock said somewhat pityingly but not cruelly. “Did you really expect it to go well?”  


“I don’t know what I expected,” John said dully, taking another long drink of his pint. He hadn’t wanted to go on this date exactly, but it had felt like the right thing to do. He hadn’t been out with anyone in the years since Mary’s death and he knew it was probably time to get back out there, if he was ever going to. So when Sarah said she had a friend she thought John might like and had pretty much refused to take no for an answer, he had decided she was probably right and probably had his best interests at heart. He agreed to go out for drinks with her friend somewhat reluctantly. He hadn’t had high hopes for the night but he hadn’t thought he would be stood up.  


“Did you do something with your hair?” Sherlock asked, nonchalantly changing the subject in an attempt to cheer his friend up.  


“What?” John snapped out of his thoughts and finally looked up at his former flatmate at this sudden switch in the topic of conversation. “Er, yes,” he stammered. “I tried to do something a bit… nicer with it, I suppose,” he finished lamely. There had been a time when John took pride in his generally smart appearance and minimalist style. But when he became a single, working father, who solved crimes with his best friend and blogged about it on the side, the effort he put into be fashionable had been one of the first things to slide. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d actually stood in front of a mirror and fixed his hair but, as he was going on a date, he had done so that night.  


“It looks good,” Sherlock said casually. “You should do it more often.”  


“Thanks,” John replied, surprised but pleased. He was also pleased that once he was able to come up with a response to his friend's compliments “I did try to look nice for tonight so I’m glad someone appreciated the effort, even if it wasn’t the person I intended,” he added with a playful, joking smile at his friend.  


“I’m glad I could make it at least somewhat worthwhile,” Sherlock responded, smiling back at him.  


“You boys need another round?” the bartender cut in suddenly. “Night’s going better now, uh?” he added with a wink to John.  


“Yes, it is, and another round would be great, thanks,” John said cheerfully. He felt oddly thrilled by pretending he was on a date with Sherlock to this overly chummy bartender. It was like when he was a kid and he swore for the first time. It was the thrill of saying something he knew he wasn’t supposed to, something that was off limits, but strangely, he wanted to say it anyway.  


"Given up on correcting him?” Sherlock asked still smiling.  


“What’s the point?” John responded with a happiness that was partially the buzz from finishing his last pint too quickly and partially the excitement at his own boldness. “Anyway he’s right, my night is going much better now.”  


“I’ll drink to that,” responded Sherlock, lifting his glass and slugging down the last of his first pint. And so they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had such fun writing this one, hope you enjoyed it! More to come and as always thanks for reading, commenting, etc!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock order in and have another (sort of) date.

“Come one, come on…” John groaned into his mobile. For the second time in as many weeks, he found himself praying that Sherlock would hurry up and answer his call.  


“John, what’s wrong?” his friend sounded genuinely worried on the other end of the line.  


“Nothing, well, nothing that bad,” John amended. “I just had my second attempt at a date with that friend of Sarah’s. We met for dinner and it didn’t go so well.”  


“Clearly not if you were meeting for dinner and you’ve finished before 7.”  


“Yeah, no it was a bit of a mess,” John admitted. “Are you home right now, are you busy? Could I maybe pop by for a bit, just to let off some steam?” he asked, a bit nervous about how his friend would take this question.  


“Of course,” Sherlock replied quickly. “I’ll expect you soon.” 

“John, excellent,” Sherlock smiled as he answered the door. “Take-away’s just arrived.I thought you might be hungry so I took the liberty of ordering Chinese” Sherlock said, gesturing toward the food and two eat-off trays set up on the floor in the middle of the front room. Sherlock’s papers and experiments covered the furniture and most of the floorspace but it seemed he’d cleared this little circle for them to eat. It reminded John of building forts in the living room with Harry when they were kids.  


“Oh great, yeah, I didn’t really get a chance to eat at the restaurant,” John said, stepping carefully over a stack of papers and sitting down. “There a reason you’ve decided to set dinner up on the floor?”  


“Well I can’t disturb the experiment in the kitchen, I working on something… you probably don’t want to know the details of when you’re about to eat. And I’d just gotten my papers in here all sorted out when you called” He waved his hand toward the stacks that covered the front room’s furniture, which looked like the biggest mess John had ever seen.  


“Right… Yeah they look real organized,” he said, amused.  


“Well beggars can’t be choosers can they?” Sherlock snapped as he joined John on the floor and started tucking into the take away. “Eggroll?”  


“Please,” John said enthusiastically. “And I’m not complaining, it’s just funny, that’s all,” he added.  


“Not as funny as your date not making it past the first course,” Sherlock retorted playfully, as he filled his plate with the contents of the take away boxes. “Are you really that out of practice?”  


“It wasn’t me!” John cried, his mouth full of eggroll. “She was bloody awful. I have no idea what Sarah was thinking,” he continued, shaking his head, as he dished himself up a full plate of Chinese food.  


“Alright, due tell then. I want to hear all of it,” Sherlock prompted him in a flat voice, making John feel more like a client giving particulars of a case than a friends spilling the details on a bad date.  


“Well she showed up late, which wasn’t a great start and she didn’t apologize either, just gave the old ‘hope I didn’t keep you waiting’ but when you’re fifteen minutes late of course you kept me waiting,” John said, the frustration from the date quickly returning.  


“Boring. Plenty of people are late to things. You show up late all the time yourself,” Sherlock said breezily, cutting him off. “I was wrong about what I said before; I don’t want to hear all of it, I just want to hear the good bits.. Or rather bad bits, I suppose,” he finished this speech thoughtfully, the last comment more to himself than to John.  


“Right well it was pretty bad right from the moment she arrived because the first thing out of her mouth when I stood up to shake her hand was ‘my you’re shorter than I expected’”  


“Well you aren’t exactly tall, John.”  


“But you don’t bring it up! Certainly not as the first thing you say to someone on a first date!” John cried, exasperated. “And stop interrupting me,” he added. “You want to hear the story, let me tell it.”  


“Yes, fine go ahead,” Sherlock surrendered.  


“Thank you. So after she told me I was disappointingly short, I tried to sort of laugh it off. Figured maybe she was nervous and just trying to be funny and it came out wrong, but she didn’t seem to treat it as a joke at all. And she followed it up by asking how old I was because she was 44 and not interested in dating an older man. And then when I told her I the same age she responded with ‘Really? well that’s good’ like she’d been thinking I was older,” John paused to take a breath, he was really getting riled up. “You want to say something smart about that?” he snapped at Sherlock.  


“No. I’m not interrupting, remember?” the detective said innocently.  


“Right well after that she just sort of went off on her ex-husband, who I guess was quite a bit older and was the reason she wasn’t interested in older men now. I listened for a while, to try to be polite, but then it started getting ridiculous and I asked if we could talk about something else and then she just snapped ‘why?’ and I was a bit annoyed at this point so I said ‘because I don’t think you’re at your best when you’re complaining about your ex and I like to get to know you’ and that really set her off… And then she pretty much just left in a huff... Before we even finished the first course” John finished his story and looked up at his friend. He had felt truly angry at the restaurant, in the car afterwards and even just now when he was retelling the whole miserable ordeal, but looking up at Sherlock, who was listening intently as he ate his Chinese food, John suddenly felt his anger dissipate. The whole evening seemed quite funny all of a sudden and he grinned at Sherlock as he said, “Pretty bad first date, huh?”  


“So am I to assume you won’t be seeing her again?” Sherlock teased.  


“Christ no,” John laughed.  


“You know it’s funny, I don’t have much experience in this area but I thought people were supposed to be trying to be charming and likeable on a first date?” Sherlock asked sarcastically.  


“Exactly! I mean think what she must be like on a bad day if that was her trying to be likable!”  


“Well, to be fair, she might very well have had an awful day, but still you would think she would just say that if it were the case…” Sherlock trailed off thoughtfully, as though he were beginning to try to unravel ‘The Tale of the Deplorable Date’.  


“Anyway, I’m just glad you were free. At least I’m still getting dinner,” John said. “I’ve missed our old takeaway spot,” he added with a smile.  


“Yes, I’m really turning out to be much more dependable than this friend of Sarah’s aren’t I?” Sherlock joked.  


“You are,” John agreed. “And you made a much better impression the first time we met,” he added quickly. Then he blushed, realizing this may have been taking things too far but Sherlock didn’t seem to notice.  


“I’m fairly certain the first time we met I was being a terrible show off,” Sherlock retorted.  


“No you weren’t. You were just being… well you,” John argued rather unconvincingly. “But it’s impressive, that thing you do, and it’s charming, albeit in an odd sort of way,” he added, the attempted compliment straying close to the territory of an insult.  


“I don’t think most people would characterize it in such a kind light, but thank you, John; I’m glad you find it at least somewhat charming,” Sherlock said sincerely, and there was that wonderful smile again. John felt himself practically glowing with happiness over the fact that he had made Sherlock smile like that. He felt a strange urge too, to reach out and take his friend’s hand. He had this sudden need to have that physical contact with Sherlock to make him seriously understand how  he impressed and captivated John, and really always had. He thought better of it though, and held back. He was nervous about what to say next, not wanting to ruin the moment, but Sherlock saved him from having to find a reply.  


“Certainly no one at Scotland Yard liked it when I showed off my deductive skills upon first being introduced,” Sherlock said ruefully.  


“I can just imagine Anderson’s response,” John chuckled.  


“Yes he was probably the least amused,” Sherlock agreed.  


With that the conversation turned to quips and stories at the expense of London’s finest. They laughed and reminisced about old cases for long past when John had intended to stay. When he finally got up and took his leave from Baker Street, John felt quite sore from spending so long sitting on the hardwood floor, but, he as he headed home, he realized he was in better spirits than he had been in a long time. This was a level of happiness John had forgotten existed or at least had forgotten he could feel. Sarah was right that he needed to get out more; she just wasn’t right about who he needed to get out with.


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock chase down a jewel thief but all doesn't go according to plan.

John’s feet pounded the pavement as he chased after the jewel thief, Sherlock and Lestrade right on his heels. John wasn’t in as good of shape as he once had been so he was running out of breath, but he was also gaining on the criminal. He dug deeper, determined not to let the man get away.  


This would be his and Sherlock’s first really high-profile case in a long while, Interpol was even involved. A precious blue diamond had been stolen from international royalty. After some intense detective work (done mostly by Sherlock) they’d tracked the missing jewel to a taxidermy shop owned by the thief’s sister. The criminal had stashed the diamond in the mouth of a stuffed goose for safe keeping. The plan for the day had been to simply stroll into the shop, collect the diamond, and worry about arresting the guilty man later. Unfortunately, the crafty chap had been just a half a step ahead of them. When Sherlock, John and Lestrade arrived at the shop to get the stolen goods, they found the thief there, retrieving his spoils. The man had rushed out of the shop’s back entrance and John and the others had chased after him.  


John wanted to be the one to make the big capture. He wanted to impress everyone, but especially Sherlock, he could just picture the look of pride on the detective’s face when his partner out ran a Scotland Yard DI to catch the bad guy. Seeing Rosie’s excitement when her daddy was in the papers, being touted as the hero of the day would certainly please John too.  


The thief ducked into an alley and John followed. He gave one final burst of speed and closed the gap between them. John reached out and grabbed the thief’s upper arm. He would’ve liked to give some catchy, action-film-worthy line like “Where do you think you’re going?”, but things happened too quickly. The moment John had grabbed the criminal, he’d swung around and pulled out a knife. With speed but not much precision the man slashed at John’s arm that was grabbing him. The thief’s knife cut across John’s shoulder (his bad shoulder) and John released his hold on the man, crying out in pain, stumbling backward.  


“John!” Sherlock yelled, and he appeared suddenly to catch John. Lestrade ran up next but Sherlock waved him ahead, “Go catch him; I’ll stay with John!”  


Lestrade ran off out of the alley, after the thief. Sherlock, still holding John firmly, lowered the two of them to a sitting position.  


“Sherlock, I’m fine it’s not a bad cut,” John protested, embarrassed. He couldn’t believe he’d been beaten so easily but it had been a long while since he’d been a in a combat situation.  


“You’re bleeding terribly John, don’t be ridiculous,” Sherlock argued, but his tone was more caring than patronizing. He took off his scarf and pressed it firmly against John’s injured shoulder to stop the flow of blood. “Tell me if this hurts, if I’m pressing too hard.”  


“You’re fine,” John assured him. John was touched by how concerned Sherlock really seemed to be. The detective’s sudden and uncharacteristic tenderness filled John’s body with a warm, excited feeling that almost drowned out the pain. Then he tried to lighten the mood a bit; he could tell it really wasn’t a deep cut and he didn’t want Sherlock to worry too much. “Look who’s the doctor now,” he joked.  


“Very clever,” Sherlock replied. “But I’m not a medical professional. We need to get you to a real doctor to look at this. I’m calling you an ambulance.”  


John felt this was all a bit much but Sherlock had whipped out his phone with his free hand before there was time to protest. As he sat there while Sherlock spoke to the operator on the other end, John contemplated his current swell of feelings. He thought about how much he was enjoying having Sherlock take care of him and how he was getting an odd rush from sitting so close to his friend, but he didn’t want to think too hard about what this all meant. He’d been having such strange emotions around Sherlock lately. He thought he recognized the almost electric feeling, but he couldn’t bring himself to admit that it was attraction. This had to stop.  


Then, however, Sherlock hung up his phone and turned to look at John. They’re faces were so close. John was staring right up into his vibrant blue eyes, getting lost in them. He glanced at Sherlock’s mouth, at the perfect cupid’s bow of his lips, just inches away, and the urge to lean slightly forward and kiss it was almost too much. There was no stopping this, but John knew he at least had to try to hold it in.  


“They’ll be here in a minute,” Sherlock said calmly.  


“What?... Who?” John asked, dazed.  


“The ambulance,” Sherlock said, looking worried again. “John, are you sure you’re alright? Are you feeling light-headed?”  


Was he feeling light-headed? Yes, but not for the expected reason. “No, no, I’m fine, I just… Had a moment… Maybe it’s good you called for help,” John mumbled. Although, he knew no doctor could solve his real problem.  


“It’s a pity Lestrade will get all the credit for my work on the diamond case,” Sherlock commented, after a moment. “But I suppose saving you is something of a consultation,” he added coolly.  


“You didn’t save me,” John snapped defensively. He pulled his shoulder out of his friend’s grasp and turned away in an attempt to save face but the fact that this move caused him to wince in pain somewhat lessened the effect of the defiant gesture.  


“I was only joking, John, I didn’t mean it like that,” Sherlock pleaded.  


John was surprised to hear the detective back down on his gibe so easily. Not wanting the moment to turn to heartfelt (for obvious reasons) John quickly made a comeback. “Either way, I still outran you!”  


“And we both outran Lestrade and yet he still gets to play the hero,” Sherlock pointed out.  


“Oh well,” John replied, thinking back to his own heroic visions from earlier, and realizing perhaps this private moment between him and Sherlock was better in a way. “Maybe being the hero isn’t everything,” he said, as he heard the wail of the ambulance approaching.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bonus points if you got that the case was an allusion to the original Conan Doyle story, "The Adventure of the Blue Carbuncle"... And as always thanks for reading, kudos-ing and commenting! <3


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John learns something about Sherlock which leads him to finally come to terms with something about himself.

“I’m really worried about him. I think he’s been kidnapped” the woman choked out, tears beginning to leak from her eyes, as she finished her story. As a parent himself, John felt for their latest client; he didn’t know what he’d do if Rosie ever disappeared.  


"And was there any sign of someone breaking into your son’s room?” Sherlock asked, without looking up from his phone which he had been looking at through most of their client’s explanation of her missing son, Lucas. The detective’s tone when he spoke was was cool and matter of fact. John felt a bit annoyed by his nonchalant attitude toward the case at hand, did he not care that a sixteen-year-old boy was missing?  


“No, nothing. That’s why it’s so strange.”  


“And you said you already went to the police so what exactly has lead you to come to us with this seemingly very dull and straightforward case?”  


“I prayed”  


Sherlock finally glanced up from his mobile when the woman said this. “You were lead here by prayer?” he asked with thinly veiled incredulity.  


“Yes,” the woman said firmly.  


“Right. And what did you say your son’s middle name was again, Mrs Stevens?” Sherlock asked, his focus back at his phone.  


“Riley, Lucas Riley Stevens, but why does that matter?”  


Sherlock didn’t respond to this question. He just continued typing on his mobile and John decided it was time to show the poor woman some compassion.  


“I know this is probably a very difficult time for you Mrs Stevens, but you’re doing all the right things in contacting the police and us. Lucas hasn’t been missing very long. I’m sure we’ll find him very soon,” John said reassuringly.  


“Do you think so?” Mrs Stevens asked, sounding frightened.  


“Found him,” Sherlock said sharply, putting his phone in his pocket.  


“What?” Mrs Stevens sounded even more frightened by this sudden declaration.  


“Mrs Stevens I’m going to ask you once: please leave this flat,” Sherlock said, standing up and walking over to open the door for their guest. “Your son is fine. He wasn’t kidnapped as you so idiotically assumed considering the lack of evidence of someone forcing entry to his room. He ran away. He’s safe with friends, but I’m not going to tell you where because he’s probably safer where he is than he would be with you,” Sherlock said, his anger mounting throughout the speech.  


“What on Earth are you talking-”  


Sherlock cut Mrs Stevens off mid-question. “As you know Mrs Stevens, your son is gay. He came out to you last spring and you preceded to send him to one of those horrid religious conversion camps over the summer. I do not know why you’re surprised that he’s left considering that you emotionally abused him for months because of his sexuality. Now I will not tolerate having a despicable and disgusting bigot like you in my home any longer so I really must ask you to leave.” Sherlock never yelled, but his rage as he said all this was actually frightening, even to John.  


“Well I never!” Mrs Stevens cried. She seemed too shocked and upset to fight back against Sherlock’s tirade and simply rushed past him and out the door.  


Once she’d left, John and Sherlock stood there for a long moment, letting the anger that had almost palpably filled the room dissipate. “Christ’s sake, what was that?” John exclaimed.  


“What?” Sherlock asked, calmer now and genuinely confused.  


“Right,” John sighed, of course Sherlock didn’t see anything odd in his little outburst. “First off, how the hell did you figure out all that about the son being gay? You weren’t even listening to her, you were just on your bloody phone the whole time.”  


“I was listening, actually, and my phone was how I managed to solve the case so quickly,” Sherlock replied coolly, handing his phone to John. John looked down at the screen as Sherlock continued to explain. “I looked Lucas up on social media. He used the name ‘Lucas Riley’, replaced his last name with his middle name, presumably to give himself a bit more privacy, but it’s a common tick among young people these days. Once I’d found his profile it was pretty simple to figure everything else out, it’s amazing how much personal information people comfortable sharing with everyone on the internet.”  


John handed Sherlock back his phone, the detective was right, anybody could piece together what had happened after a quick look at some of Lucas’s posts.  


“Ok,” John said evenly. “But that still doesn’t explain why you blew up at that woman like that.”  


“Of course it does. She was clearly an awful homophobe and a terrible mother,” Sherlock said. His explanation was simple, but he was clearly somewhat agitated; he took a couple paces toward the kitchen as he spoke, then backtracked a step toward the door before stopping and facing John again.  


“No,” John said, shaking his head. “That doesn’t make sense. We’ve dealt with some awful people in our cases: murderers, kidnappers, abusive spouses. I’ve never seen you lose it like that before so what is it about this one that’s set you off?” Sherlock wasn’t looking at him anymore; instead he seemed to be suddenly fascinated with his own shoes. The detective’s expression was worried, perhaps even nervous. They were silent for a moment but John felt they were on the brink of something big and he didn’t want to let Sherlock off the hook. “I’m your best friend,” he pleaded, but he said it kindly. “You can tell me.” There was another long silence and John was about to give up, then finally Sherlock spoke.  


“I suppose it was just too close to home. I know-,” Sherlock’s voice broke and he let out a shaky breath. “I know what it feels like to be in Lucas’s shoes. When I was 19 I came out to my parents as gay and they-,” he paused again and collected himself once more.  


John stared at his friend, who was still directing his gaze and words toward the floor.  John was shocked, not only had he not seen this admission coming but he had rarely seen Sherlock look so weak, so frightened and small somehow, despite his impressive height.  


“They kicked me out,” Sherlock continued finally. “My family disowned me. I didn’t speak to my parents for years. I was alone and scared and it was one of the hardest times of my life.” He looked up at the end of this speech and John saw he was crying.  


“Oh Sherlock.” He crossed the room quickly and hugged his friend tightly. He did it on impulse, giving him no time to rethink his action. John knew he had done the right thing though, as he felt Sherlock in his arms, his tall, thin frame shivering slightly with his sobs. Whatever emotional turmoil John was feeling from embracing Sherlock was unimportant. John had to set aside the fact that his body was pressed against the man, who he was growing increasing confused about his feelings for. 

Right now he needed to be there holding Sherlock, as his best friend.  


“I’m so sorry Sherlock,” he whispered, unsure of the right words to say.  


“It was years ago,” Sherlock stammered. “I shouldn’t be crying like this.”  


“It’s ok,” John said, rubbing his hand slowly across his friend’s back. “Or it’s not ok but-”  


“It is what it is,” they both said softly in unison. They broke their embrace at that moment and pulled away to look at each other, both smiling sadly. The phrase had become a sort of shorthand between them, a way of saying ‘I know life is hard, but I’ll always be there for you’, ever since the day they had made up shortly after Mary’s death.  


“I haven’t told anyone that story probably over a decade,” Sherlock said, drying his eyes.  


“Well it means a lot that you felt you could trust me with it,” John said sincerely.  


“Of course, John” Sherlock replied. “I would trust you with anything.”

As he lay in bed that night, staring at the ceiling, unable to sleep, John thought about what he had learned that day. Sherlock was gay. John knew what this meant. It meant that he could admit to himself what he had been feeling toward Sherlock over the past few weeks. What had been growing inside him was an attraction, a love for his best friend that was more than platonic, and now that he knew this could potentially be reciprocated he could truly face this fact. Before he could have told himself that he should keep his feelings to himself because they would never lead to anything; Sherlock was attracted to women, Irene proved this. Now he knew that statement wasn’t true, or at least it wasn’t the whole truth.  
John of course knew Sherlock could be attracted to both men and women, as John himself was. John had always known he was bisexual, but after suffering months of incessant taunting and bullying at university because of his first relationship with another man, he decided to keep his sexuality to himself. He knew this was probably neither right nor emotionally healthy but he got used to it.  


After John met Mary, sticking to women seemed like a fine choice. Oh, Mary. She had been such an amazing presence in his life. John felt complete when he was with her; he felt understood too. He’d never believed in the notion of soulmates or true love until he’d met her. Certainly their relationship hadn’t always been perfect, but John had never felt so strongly about another person, man or woman. Until now.  


Now he recognized the same warm, joyous feelings, when he was with Sherlock. He felt drawn to his friend in a way that he never had before, but it was the same pull he had felt toward Mary. Was it wrong to be falling in love again? He knew it wasn’t of course. Mary would want him to be happy, and she had always liked Sherlock. It made sense in a lot of ways too, John realized, Sherlock, like Mary, excited John, amazed him with his talents and intelligence. He understood and shared John’s need for adventure. Sherlock was understanding and caring, at least with John and his friends, perhaps not with everyone. Rosie liked him which was of course a must for anyone John would seriously consider a longterm relationship with. After all these years and everything they’d been through, John couldn’t deny he and Sherlock made a good match; they fit each other. There was no telling what would happen if they introduced romance into the situation, but now he had no good reason not to try.  


John knew his feelings for Sherlock were there, and after the last few difficult, grief-filled years after losing Mary, he wanted bring love back into his life. He felt sick with nerves just thinking about it, but he made a promise to himself to tell Sherlock how he felt, when the time was right.  


Just then John’s phone buzzed on the nightstand. Who would be sending him a text at this hour? He grabbed his phone and flicked it on to read the message:  


Feeling bored. Dinner tomorrow? I’ll make reservations. Be at Baker St at 6:30. Bring Rosie. Mrs Hudson can watch her. -SH  


John set his phone back down, feeling more nervous than ever. Perhaps the right time to admit his feelings for Sherlock was going to come sooner than he’d expected.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finally gets something off his chest.

“This is a pretty nice place,” John commented gazing around the black-tie-only-type restaurant and down at the rather pricey list of menu items.  


“Mycroft recommended it,” Sherlock replied nonchalantly, not looking up from his menu. “He brings dignitaries and various important and stuck up people here for work. I used his name to get the reservation actually.”  


“Are we going to get in trouble for that?” John asked, looking around nervously.  


“Oh no, he approved it. I think my dear brother is trying to get in my good graces so he can continue giving me advice on areas where he has no expertise.”  


“Such as?”  


“Romance mainly,” Sherlock said blandly. Then he looked up at John. “I forgot to ask earlier, how is your shoulder doing?”  


“Oh!... It’s fine. It um… yeah it’s fine,” John stammered. He was taken off guard by the quick change in conversation topic. He would’ve liked to know a bit more about why Mycroft was offering Sherlock romantic advice, but he was a bit pleased to hear the detective was still concerned about the cut John had sustained on a recent case.  


“That’s good. I was wondering since that is the shoulder where you were shot in Afghanistan, correct?”  


“Yes. That’s impressive that you remembered that.”  


“Well, you only have two shoulders John, even if I did have to guess, which of course I didn’t, I’d have a pretty good chance of getting it right,” Sherlock replied breezily.  


“Still though...” John trailed off. Sherlock might think nothing of it, but John liked that his friend remembered or at least noticed little details like that. It meant Sherlock was paying attention to him. Of course John knew his friend did pay attention and care but sometimes Sherlock made it easy to forget this. He would keep his kinder observations to himself, seeing them as irrelevant, John supposed.  


“Can I get you gentlemen something to drink?” A young, smartly dressed waiter had approached the table when John wasn’t looking. He was about to ask for a glass of the house red when suddenly an idea struck him.  


“We’d like a bottle of champagne,” he told the waiter confidently. “I think…” He scanned the menu for something nice but not too expensive. “This one will do nicely.” John pointed out a selection to the waiter.  


“Excellent choice, sir. I’ll have that right up.”  


“Champagne,” Sherlock commented, as the waiter bustled away, his tone and  raised eyebrow displaying his curiosity. “Is there some special occasion tonight that I was unaware of?”  


“No,” John replied nervously. He was now regretting his moment of daring but there was no going back. If he was to confess his feelings to Sherlock tonight, which had been his plan, champagne seemed like the perfect, romantic accompaniment. Now that he’d ordered the bottle he was going to have to say the little speech he’d prepared.  


“Perhaps by the end of the night we’ll have found a good reason to celebrate,” John continued with the calmest smile he could muster. Of  course, if Sherlock responded unfavorably to his admission, John was going to be wishing he’d ordered a bottle of rum or whiskey instead but it was best not to think about that.  


“Here we are gentlemen.” The waiter reappeared with the champagne. He popped the bottle’s cork, poured each of them a glass and then set vessel of ice on the table and placed the champagne bottle in it. “Are you gentlemen ready to order or do you need a moment longer with the menu?” He asked politely. John ordered a steak and Sherlock got the lobster, and the waiter left them, promising the wait wouldn’t be long.  


“Here’s to not being bored,” Sherlock said brightly, raising his glass of champagne.  


“Yes, cheers.” John clinked his glass against his friend’s and took a good gulp of the bubbly liquid, hoping for some alcohol-induced courage to come to his aide before the meal was through.  


“I wanted to tell you,” Sherlock said. “Lestrade brought me a new case. Double murder. Mysterious note. Missing fortune. Intriguing stuff. If you’re interested in taking a look at the evidence, I’d like your opinion.”  


“I’d be happy to look but I’m not sure how much help I’ll be.”  


“Oh nonsense, John, you’re always a great help. I wouldn’t be able to solve half the cases I do without you, or at least I wouldn’t be able to solve them as quickly.”  


John smiled. He knew Sherlock had managed to solve plenty of cases before they’d met and plenty more since when John was too busy to offer his assistance, but he was glad that Sherlock wanted his opinion all the same.  


“If nothing else, I suppose I can write it up for the blog and get you some publicity,” John said with a laugh.  


“Don’t sell yourself short, John,” Sherlock scolded playfully. “After all the time you’ve spent with me I would imagine you’ve become much more observant than you realize.”  


“Don’t count on it.”  


“I’m serious and I’ll prove it to you,” Sherlock insisted. “Pick someone in this room, anyone and tell me everything you can about who they are by observation. You’ll come up with more than you would expect, I guarantee.”  


“And then you’ll tell me what I missed?”  


“Naturally,” Sherlock smirked.  


“Right, ok…” John took a drink of his champagne and scanned the dining room for someone who looked easy to figure out. He normally wouldn’t be so eager to go along with the detective's little games, but this was a chance to impress Sherlock, which John wanted to do tonight. If he could prove he was smart and capable, Sherlock’s equal, that would set things up better for the little announcement he was planning to make. So John needed to find someone who was easy to read because to let his observation skills shine, he needed a less challenging target. “How about that older man sitting alone, behind you?”  


“Fine. Go ahead.”  


“His suit looks expensive and well kept, but it’s clearly an older style so either he’s very attached to the past or he once had money but he doesn’t anymore. Probably that. I’m guessing he had a decent job but he’s retired now and he doesn’t have a lot of extra savings so he has to be careful with his money… But then why would he be at such a nice restaurant?... So it must be a special occasion… But he’s here alone… Oh I don’t know, I give up!” John cried suddenly frustrated and embarrassed that he’d made such a poor showing.  


“No keep going. What’s the occasion, think.”  


“Fine,” John sighed. “Maybe… It’s a birthday… Or an anniversary, this place is pretty romantic so maybe that’s it… And I think he’s wearing a wedding ring so that would make sense… But he’s alone so she, well I’m assuming she, but either way, the other person…maybe the other person got sicka and that’s where the savings went, to medical expenses… That might be a stretch but we know…” John trailed off. “We know the old man’s a widower,” he said quietly. What had started out as a silly game had suddenly turned very serious. John looked down at his hands and then took another good gulp of his drink. He was struck by the realization of what he and the glum, lonely looking older man had in common. It made him feel very empty and alone himself.  


“Oh John, I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have let you… I should’ve thought…” Sherlock was uncharacteristically anxious and lost for words.  


John looked up at his friend and was struck by another realization: he wasn’t alone. He was here with Sherlock, the man he was falling in love with. If all went well tonight, John was going to be headed down a very different path from the old widower because although he had lost his first true love, he felt sure he had found another. John realized he was, really, very far from alone in this life because he had been lucky enough to be given two wonderful romances, two people to share his life with.  


“It’s ok,” he said, sincerely, reassuringly, smiling and Sherlock.  


“Or at least it is what it is,” Sherlock replied ruefully.  


“No,” John said firmly, but still warmly. “It’s really ok this time.”

After dinner, which was as exceedingly delicious as a person would hope it would be for the price, they climbed into a cab to head back to Baker St. John would retrieve Rosie from Mrs. Hudson, who had been more than willing to watch her while John and Sherlock were out, then he and his daughter would head home.  


In the the cab back from the restaurant with Sherlock, John sat quietly, trying not to show that he was overwhelmed by nerves. He hadn’t managed to say what he’d needed to to his friend, hadn’t been able to get the words out of his mouth, even though they’d been running on a nonstop loop in his head. Now his window of opportunity was growing smaller and smaller. He’d already given up the gorgeous, romantic setting of the restaurant dining room. He’d have to settle for a cramped cab… with the driver listening in? No. He couldn’t do it here. He would wait until they arrived at Baker St, but how would he bring the conversation up? THere had been so many clear opportunities at dinner and he’d let them all go. He’d been too nervous, but his apprehension had only grown worse over the course of the meal. How on earth was he going to do this?  


The cab pulled up to their destination and John and Sherlock got out. It was raining. John stood on the sidewalk, shaking from the cold and his mounting anxiety, as Sherlock paid the cabby.  


“John is something wrong?” Sherlock asked, turning to face John, as the cab drove away.  


“There’s something I need to tell you,” John finally managed to spit out.  


“Well say it before we get any more drenched.”  


“Alright, but first, I’m going to say this thing, all of it, and you can’t interrupt ok? And when I’m done you don’t have to respond, in fact just don’t respond ok? Just let me and Rosie go home and you can think about it and let me know what you think later when you’ve had a chance to really mull it over, ok?” John spouted all these caveats out quite quickly. Now that he was talking his nervousness was making him want to say everything that was on his mind.  


“Alright, yes. Just say it already John.”  


“I… I know this may come as a shock, but... I’ve been thinking about it for a while now and it’s real, I’m not... Overreacting or anything like that… I… Sherlock, you are my best friend. You’re an amazing, intelligent, loyal, brave, caring person and… I think, no, I know I’ve started to develope feelings for you… Feelings that are more than friendship, that are, you know, romantic… And well, there it is, I said it, I’m falling for you Sherlock, and it’s up to you how you feel about that, but I want to see where it goes if you’re interested so I guess… That’s it.” John felt somewhat out of breathe when he finished and he realized he’d been hyperventilating the whole time. He felt even more shaky and anxious now, but the deed was done. He couldn’t take it back, but he could retrieve Rosie and run from what he’d just done. So John made for the door, purposely not looking at Sherlock, but then he was stopped when he felt his friend grab his wrist.  


“John wait.”  


John’s whole body felt like ice, and it wasn’t just from being out in the cold rain. This was the moment of truth. Sherlock was going to respond to his admission. John felt as though everything, him, Sherlock, time had suddenly frozen. There was really no going back now.  


“I don’t have to think about it John,” Sherlock’s voice was flat and calm. John didn’t turn to look at his friend, he couldn’t, he had no idea if what was coming was good or bad. “I have feelings for you too,” he said simply.  


John turned to look at his friend then. He couldn’t speak, but he gazed at Sherlock. He watched as the rain drops ran down his face, dripping off his eyelashes, his perfect, chiseled jawline. Looking at Sherlock’s expression, John knew he was sincere. In that warm, genuine smile, John saw that Sherlock’s affection for him was very real. This was really happening. Sherlock had feelings for John, just as John had for him.  


“Did you know?” the question suddenly popped into John’s head and he immediately asked it without thinking.  


“There were signs of attraction. I suspected for a couple of weeks that you might be feeling something. Mycroft suggested the restaurant as a way to give things a little push in the right direction and although I normally wouldn’t take his advice on such things, it seemed like a good idea.”  


“So you weren’t bored?”  


“Well not exactly but… I was getting a little tired of waiting for you to say something,” Sherlock smirked. “After I came out to you, I thought it would be a given that you would return the gesture but-”  


“Well, it’s a lot to ask that I would just say it right then!” John snapped indignantly, but Sherlock laughed and then John did too.  


“So where do we go from here?” John asked, realizing he’d never thought things through this far.  


“Well,” Sherlock replied slyly, “I believe you have my number, Dr. Watson, and I have yours. So I think I give you a kiss goodnight and we make plans to meet again soon, does that sound alright?”  


“Yes,” John smiled, but he knew he was more nervous than sauve, as Sherlock was being. “That sounds just fine.”  


With that, Sherlock leaned in and pressed his lips lightly against John’s. The kiss was brief, but again John felt as though everything, even time, stopped. This time it wasn’t a feeling of freezing though. This was like melting. It was warm and comforting and there was a sense of releasing something he’d been holding in. There was a burning, an excitement and fire to the feeling too. Then just like that it was over.  


“Goodnight, John,” Sherlock whispered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long but I hope it was worth the wait! As always, thanks for reading, commenting, etc!


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock have their first real date, but it's off to an interesting start.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this one took so long, sometimes life just gets in the way, but there's more to come and it should come more quickly I hope!

Molly looked from her work to watch Sherlock packing up his things to leave the lab.  


“You’re headed off early. Got a case to see to?”  


“No,” Sherlock replied tersely . “I’m just taking a lunch break, I believe that’s what you call it, isn’t it, when you take a break to have lunch?”  


“Yes, that is what you call it,” Molly said with a smile, “I’ve just never known you to be someone who went in for those things.”  


“Well I am, and if you’ll excuse me I’m late,” Sherlock wanted to leave and cut the interrogation off quickly, but he’d said the wrong thing.  


“Oh, you’re late, so you’re meeting someone?” Molly’s voice revealed her growing curiosity.  


“Yes, and I’ve really got to go. I’ll see you later Molly,” Sherlock said as he hurried out the door.  


Sherlock was normally quite fond of Molly, but today her questions were not welcome. This was only his and John’s first date and he wasn’t ready to tell all their friends what was going on between them just yet.  


For that matter what was going on between them? Were they officially dating now? Did this date count or was this some sort of pre-courtship test-date thing? Was John his boyfriend now? Sherlock had to admit, he liked the sound of that idea, even though it made him extremely nervous. He’d know for a long time now that his feelings for John went beyond just friendship but until he knew John reciprocated, he had forced himself not to show it because he knew it could ruin the wonderful platonic relationship they already had. But now John had reciprocated, and the thing Sherlock had longed for was happening: he was going on a date with Dr. John Watson.  


Sherlock tried to get a handle on his nerves as he headed to the cafe where they’d planned to meet. He didn’t have much experience with romance and none of it was particularly successful, but this time he desperately wanted to get things right. The way he felt about John was unlike the way he’d ever felt about another person before in his life. He cared about John so deeply, and had such an intense desire to protect him, to support him, and to be a good enough person to deserve him. Sherlock had once thought he wasn’t truly capable of falling in love. When he was young, he’d thought perhaps his great intellect prevented him from letting his emotions take over enough to fall in love in the way other people could. But he now knew that wasn’t true because he was in love with John Watson, and he had to get this right so John would fall in love with him in return.  
                ****************************  


John left the surgery with his nerves on edge. He was already behind schedule because his last appointment had finished late and there was no way he’d make it to his date with Sherlock on time. Damn, what a way to start things off in their relationship.  


Then suddenly a black car with tinted windows pulled up beside him. The back seat window rolled down and Mycroft Holmes smiled up at him icily.  


“John, I’d like a word if you wouldn’t mind getting in the car,” he said.  


“Sorry, Mycroft, I can’t. I’m meeting someone and I’m already going to be late,” John replied firmly, hoping that would be the end of it.  


“Oh I know, you’re going on a date with my little brother,” Mycroft said, not hiding his enjoyment at John’s shock.  


“You what?... But how?” John stammered.  


“Come now John, by now I would’ve thought you’d realize, I have my ways. Now get in the car and I promise you won’t be late. We’ll get you to your date on time and you and I can have a little chat on the way,” Mycroft said in a falsely sweet, somewhat demeaning tone. But John was too surprised to be angered by this and, seeing no real alternative, he climbed into the backseat with Sherlock’s brother.  


“So what is it you wanted to discuss?” John asked.  


“Well, it’s this relationship you’re starting with my brother,” Mycroft replied matter of factly. “I want to make sure you understand fully what you’re entering into,” he looked at John seriously.  


“Mycroft this is only our first date. I’m sure with time we’ll figure out exactly how things will work between us,” John managed to respond, still finding it hard to believe he was actually sitting in this car having this conversation with Mycroft of all people. Shouldn’t he be discussing these things with his boyfriend before he got them all squared away with his brother? Was Sherlock even his boyfriend for that matter?  


“It’s sweet how naive you are, John, but with my little brother, as you of all people should know, nothing's that simple. Yes, I’m sure most relationships can be ‘figured out with time’ as you say, but Sherlock is a somewhat volatile individual and he’s quite emotionally needy. He’s grown very attached to you over the years and now that you have returned that sentiment and taken this next step, I just want you to consider carefully what this relationship will require, because if you go don this road you can’t go back or you would break my brother’s heart. You would break his heart and you would break him entirely and I will not allow that.”  


“Are you threatening me?” John shot back.  


“Let me say this John, if I did not think you were worthy or up to the task, I would not be letting this continue. As it is I simply want to make you aware of the seriousness of this little venture,” Mycroft looked at John very intensely, as if to say ‘do we have an understanding?’.  


So now his budding relationship with Sherlock was a ‘serious venture’; it was as if they were opening a business together. Leave it to Mycroft to suck all the romance out of a first date. But John knew Sherlock was pretty much Mycroft’s whole world so if he had even a shred of the older Holmes’s approval, well, that was something.  


“Right, I understand,” John told him.  


“Good,” said Mycroft smiling again. “Because I believe this is your stop. John realized then they had just pulled up to the cafe. He got out of the car and as it drove away, he turned and found Sherlock standing before him.  


“So my brother is continuing to meddle. What did he want?” Sherlock asked.  


“Yeah seems so,” John replied. “He told me I needed to think about what I was getting into with you or I might break your heart and he wasn’t going to let that happen.”  


“So he threatened you?”  


“Pretty much, yeah,” John said, then he added jokingly, “But you know, it was kind of a nice threat when you think about it, shows he cares about you, doesn’t want you to get hurt.” John expected Sherlock to laugh at this but he didn't.  


“Somehow I don’t believe you’re capable of hurting me,” Sherlock said, his voice tender but serious.  


“God I hope not,” John whispered, looking up at him.  


“Well, come on,” said Sherlock, with a smile, “On that gloomy note, let’s have our date, shall we Doctor Watson?”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's Valentine's Day but both John and Sherlock have forgotten...

“Morning Sherlock,” Molly said cheerfully as she entered the lab.  


Sherlock looked up to see she was smiling broadly and carrying a vase full of red roses. “What on earth are those for?” he asked, gesturing to the roses.  


“It’s Valentine’s silly, did you forget?” Molly giggled. “They’re a gift,” she added. “From my very thoughtful boyfriend.”  


Oh dear, Valentine’s. Sherlock had forgotten, he’d forgotten completely, he was not, after all, used to having to remember this particular holiday. He and John had only just started dating but that didn’t mean he was allowed to forget this day, perhaps it even put more pressure on him to remember and do something nice and romantic. Oh damn, what was he to do on such short notice?  


“You know him actually,” Molly continued, not noticing how distracted Sherlock had become.  


Knew who? What on earth was she going on about now? “Hmm, what’s that?” Sherlock asked, trying to sound as though he were actually interested and not focusing his real attention on coming up with a gift for John.  


“My boyfriend,” Molly replied. “It’s Mike Stamford. We’ve only been going out for a month or so now, actually, but he’s just lovely. So sweet, nothing like the other men I’ve dated.”  


Sherlock was surprised by this news. How had two people he knew started dating without his taking notice? But he had to admit Molly and Mike would make a sweet couple, they were both kind, smart but somewhat quiet people. How had he not noticed it though? Of course the last month or so he had been rather distracted by John. John! He still needed to come up with a Valentine’s gift, think, think!  


“Aren’t you going to respond to that somehow? Congratulate me, perhaps?” Molly asked. Slightly annoyed.  


“Hmm? Oh right, yes congratulations, Molly,” Sherlock said quickly. Then he added, more sincerely, “And I do mean it, you deserve every happiness and if Mike brings you that, well he’s a very lucky man to have snatched you up.”  


“Oh Sherlock! You can be nice when you try, huh?” Molly teased. “And you’ve no right to be jealous,” she added jokingly, “You had your chance.”  


“Chance with what?” Sherlock asked, already back on his train of thought about what to get John. Would he like roses? They’d certainly made Molly happy, but it felt too traditional.  


“Oh nevermind,” Molly muttered. “I can see you’ve got something on your mind. I’ll leave you to it, then. Happy Valentine’s Sherlock,” she called as she head into the next room to begin her day’s work.  


What should I get him?, Sherlock thought, and then the idea came.  
                ****************************************  


“Daddy, hurry up, I’m going to be late!” Rosie whined loudly.  


“Alright, love, Daddy’s hurrying,” John called back, rushing down the stairs. Leave it to hs brilliant daughter to actually want to be on time for school, didn’t most children not want to go at all? But Rosie was special and he loved that about her.  


As he came into the front hall she was stuffing a large envelope into her school bag.  


“What’s that Rosie?” he asked, curiously. “Something for show and share today?”  


“No, silly that’s only on Fridays,” Rosie said, with the exasperation of someone much older. “These are my Valentine’s for my classmates. There’s one for everyone, even stinky Roger Clemens, because Ms Jones said we had to bring one for everybody.”  


John stopped dead. Could that be right? Was it… yes it was Valentine’s Day. It was Valentine’s Day and Rosie had had to make Valentine’s for every one of her little classmates and she had remembered and he had had to get one Valentine for the most important man in his life and he had forgotten. Damn, how on earth was he supposed to get Sherlock something special and perfect, as he deserved, with so little time?  


“Daddy, are you alright because we have to go!” Rosie cried.  


“Oh, yes sweetheart, Daddy’s fine, just thinking about some things he has to do after he drops you off at school, but you’re right let’s go.” As they headed out the door, John’s mind ran through possible gift ideas and threw out each one in turn; Sherlock was not an easy man to shop for. His only hope was that Sherlock had forgotten what day it was too and, knowing Sherlock’s track record with basic life trivia, it was a possibility. Just as he was getting in the car, John’s phone buzzed. He looked at it and his hopes flew out the window.  


Happy Valentines. Meet me at Baker St at 5 for your special surprise. Mrs H can watch Rosie. - SH  


Damn, John thought, I’m really in trouble now.  
                ********************************  


John stared at the display of chocolates before him. In desperation, he’d settled on chocolate as a classic (not boring, classic) gift. He’d had no better ideas and he’d needed to make a decision before he ran out of time but now he was faced with another choice to be made: which box should he get?  


There were dozens of boxes and John was realizing he had no idea what Sherlock’s taste in sweets was, did Sherlock even like chocolate? No, don’t be daft, everyone likes chocolate. But what kind was his favorite? Caramels? Fruits and nut filled? Fudge? Perhaps he should text Mycroft and ask, but what made him think Mycroft would’ve paid attention to something like that?  


Then a large stack of blue boxes in the corner caught John’s eye. “The Mystery Box” the package proclaimed. It said it was an assortment of three dozen truffles of different flavors, but it was up to you to figure out what they were. Chocolates with a puzzle, not a very hard puzzle perhaps, but still, John thought it was perfect. He paid quickly and left the shop; he had just enough time to pick up Rosie and change into something more suitable before he had to meet Sherlock.  
                **************************************  


“Here we are,” declared Sherlock, as he removed John’s blindfold. The moment the had left Baker Street in the cab, Sherlock had insisted on blindfolding John, so as not to ruin the surprise.  


John looked up. “We’re at the London Eye.”  


“Excellent observation John. Yes, we are in fact at the London Eye. I thought since we both love this city so much, a spectacular sunset view would be a good way to spend our first Valentine’s together.”  


“It’s a lovely idea,” said John, why hadn’t he thought of something this good? “Shall we go get in the queue then?”  


“Oh, we don’t need to join the queue,” Sherlock said with a smile. “We have a sort of, special reservation.” And with that he took John’s hand and lead him past the queue (and the people in it who stared at them with irritation). The man in charge of helping guests board the Ferris wheel smiled and nodded to them as they approached.  


“Mr. Holmes, right on time. This one’s yours, just for you and your guest.”  


“Thank you, James,” said Sherlock as he ushered a stunned John into the compartment.  


“How on earth did you manage this?” John asked with admiration, as the door shut behind them.  


Sherlock smiled proudly. “The thing about being a good detective John, is that you end up with a lot of people who owe you favors.”  


“Pretty big favor I guess.”  


“Double homicide-sized favor to be exact. Do you like it? It also comes with champagne, part of the package,” Sherlock said hopefully, gesturing to the ice bucket on the bench. “Probably not very good champagne, but…”  


“But it’s wonderful. I love it, of course I do,” John assured him. “And the important thing is I’m here with you.” He smiled and Sherlock smiled back.  


“And now my gift is going to seem really lame by comparison,” John added  


“You are my gift. You being here, that’s all I need,” Sherlock replied  


“Well hopefully chocolates are a good addition to my presence,” John said pulling the box out from under his jacket and handing it to Sherlock. ]  


“Oh ‘The Mystery Box’”  


“It’s stupid, I know, but I didn’t know what to get you and I was at the chocolate shop and I saw that and well…”  


“I love it, really. It’s very me, John. You’ll have to add this to the blog now, ‘The Case of The Unknown Filling.”  


“Now you’re just being mean,” John snapped playfully, hitting Sherlock lightly on the arm.  


“It was just a joke. I like it, really,” Sherlock said with a smile as he set the box down on the bench and pulled John in  for a kiss. “Happy Valentine’s, John.”  


“Happy Valentine’s, Sherlock.”  


As the kiss ended they turned to look at the view, as the setting sun lit up the London skyline, and to the detective and his blogger, the city had never looked more beautiful.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock's relationship is progressing quickly...  
> As a note this chapter is about sex but nothing is described in detail 'cause that is just not my thing, there's lots of other fics for that though lol

“I’ll have another one here,” John signaled the bartender, who quickly brought by another drink.  


“Ta, mate,” John said with a nod, taking the glass.  


“You’d better slow down there, John, or I’ll have to cut you off,” Sherlock teased. Their fifth date had started with dinner, which had been so lovely they’d decided to let the night continue at the pub, where John had downed one drink after another in fairly quick succession.  


“You,” John jabbed Sherlock in the chest, “Will do no such thing. I will have as many of these as I choose,” he proclaimed haughtily, taking a swig of his drink.  


“Alright, but I do believe you may be regretting it in the morning. You are a bit drunk.”  


“I am not. I’m the doctor here, not you, me so I will make the diagnostics and I say I am not drunk at all, I’m just having a fun night. Enjoying me-self, myself, is that so wrong?” John stumbled through this declaration of his relative sobriety and Sherlock giggled. It could’ve been annoying but John was not in the habit of overdoing it with the alcohol, the last time Sherlock had seen him this drunk was probably his stag party, so he found the display tonight to be rather cute and endearing.  


“Alright doctor, but this is the last one because I’m tired and I want to head home,” Sherlock argued. “Here, in fact, let me help you finish that.” He took a drink from John’s glass.  


“Hey that’s mine, that’s my drink!” John cried. “You’re a thief! THIEF!” He yelled.  


“Alright, not so loud,” Sherlock warned, but no one seemed to be paying them much attention.  


The bartender did look over though, “You boys ready to cash out?” he asked, but it was really more of a suggestion.  


“Yes I think we are, thanks,” Sherlock replied politely. After he took care of the bill he pulled out his phone and shot off a text to Molly.  


Sorry to ruin you and Mike’s evening, but would you mind if the babysitting lasted until tomorrow? John’s overdone it a bit on the drinks. -SH  


His phone buzzed quickly with Molly’s response.  


Not a problem! Rosie’s an angel, we love having her. Get John home safe, see you tomorrow! -M  


Sherlock texted back a quick thanks and looked over to see why John had gotten so quiet, only to find his friend slumped over the bar, half asleep. “Alright, let’s get you home, come.” Sherlock helped him up and lead John outside so they could call a cab.  
                ********************  


“Right, feeling a bit better now?” Sherlock asked John, as he came back into the living room. On a positive note, having a night at the pub end with his friend throwing up in his bathroom did take him back to his younger days… Ah to be young again…  


“A bit, sure, ‘spos,” John muttered.  


“Excellent, to bed then, I think,” Sherlock lead John to his room on the first floor, John’s old room, the guest room was out as stairs weren’t really an option at this point.  


“Mmm yes, bed, and you, sir will come with me.” John attempted what Sherlock imagined was intended to be a saucy attractive look but it didn’t exactly turn out that way. “I’m going to take you to bed with me and inspect you all over, detective,” John slurred and then he gave a hiccup.  


“I don’t think that’s the best idea tonight,” Sherlock replied kindly, taking his friend into his room and helping him into his bed.  


“And why not?” John objected.  


“On a romantic note, I want our first time to be special, and this isn’t exactly what I had in mind, and on a practical note John, I would never have sex with someone as drunk as you,” Sherlock explained kindly.  


John made a sulking face, but Sherlock just kissed his head and smiled. “You’ll thank me in the morning,” he said.  
                ********************  


John awoke with a splitting headache, feeling groggy. What time was it? He reached for his bedside clock on the nightstand and didn’t find it. He rolled over and looked and realized then that this was not his room; this was not his bed. Shit, what happened last night? He sat up slowly, his head throbbing and looked around, it didn’t take long for him to recognize Sherlock’s room at Baker Street.  


“Ah, good you’re up,” Sherlock greeted him cheerily, as he entered the room. “Would you like some tea or coffee perhaps?”  


“Coffee, maybe?” John mumbled. God, he felt awful. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so awful… He also couldn’t remember what had happened last night, how had he ended up in Sherlock’s bed?  


“Right, one coffee, coming,” Sherlock chirped as he left the room again.  


John’s head hurt worse as he tried to remember what had happened the night before. He remembered thinking that this could be the night that he and Sherlock went all the way. He remembered hoping a few drinks would give him the courage to lead things in that direction… But beyond that it was a blank. Had he and Sherlock had sex last night for the first time and now John would have no memory of it?  


“Here you are, one coffee, cream, no sugar.” Sherlock was back. He sat down the other side of the bed and handed John the mug.  


“Thanks,” said John, taking a sip, and setting the cup down on the nightstand. “Sherlock…” he began nervously. “Last night, I don’t really remember how things ended, did we…” John didn’t know how to finish the question, he was feeling embarrassed and stupid now for having gotten so drunk and making such a fool of himself, even if he couldn’t remember it he knew he must have acted outrageously.  


“No, you suggested it actually, but I didn’t think the timing was quite right,” Sherlock replied. “And you’d thrown up not long before you proposed the idea so you weren’t exactly at your sexiest,” he added jokingly.  


John groaned, that was about the worst answer he could’ve been given. “I’m such an idiot,” he muttered.  


“Well last night you might’ve been, yes, but generally, you’re not so bad.” Sherlock smiled at him fondly.  


“Thank you for saving me from myself," John said. What had he ever done to deserve a man who could be so kind and caring?  


“Not a problem, you’ve done that for me many times,” Sherlock said, pecking John on the cheek as he got up from the bed. “Now you take your time with that coffee and when you’re done, we’ll go out and get some breakfast. We don’t have to pick up Rosie until this afternoon.”  


John nodded. So Molly would need a big thank you and an apology too.  


Sherlock was at the door when he turned back and said, “Oh and just to be clear, John, I do very much want to have sex with you, just when you’ll be able to remember it the next day.” He winked and left the bedroom.  
                ***************  


“That was exactly what I needed,” John sighed as he hung up his coat. “A good breakfast and I feel like a new man.”  


“I’m glad,” Sherlock replied, taking off his scarf. “Because you were not looking very well this morning.”  


“Thank you again for looking after me last night,” John’s voice was sincere and his eyes showed a depth of love and appreciation that blew Sherlock away.  


“Of course, John, what are friends for? Or boyfriends, rather,” he said with a sly smile.  


“I’m really starting to get used to the sound of that,” said John, taking Sherlock’s hand, “You are my man now, Sherlock Holmes.”  


“And you are mine Doctor Watson.” Sherlock let go of John’s hand to wrap his arms around John’s waist.  


“Yes,” said John with a saucy look, “I’m all yours.”  


Now he has the sexy look mastered, Sherlock thought, as he leaned forward and the two of them kissed. Sherlock had noticed that with each kiss they had become less afraid to show their affection and desire for one another. Each kiss became longer and more intense and this was no exception. Sherlock’s hands were gripping John tightly, John was reaching up with one hand to run his fingers through Sherlock’s curls. Sherlock pressed himself against John and John pulled him in harder. They were soon backed against the wall of the front hall, locked in a passionate embrace. Who would’ve pegged a hangover and bacon and eggs as an aphrodisiac?  


“You know,” Sherlock whispered in John’s ear, we still have a couple hours before you’re supposed to pick up Rosie.”  


“Say no more,” John whispered back, and they made their way to the bedroom.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rosie is turning six and John and Sherlock throw her a party...

John and Sherlock met for a walk in the park a couple of days later, it had been John’s idea and Sherlock got the sense there was something specific they were there to discuss. He hoped John hadn’t had any second thoughts about how quickly their relationship was progressing, when they’d made love for the first time it had felt so right and Sherlock had thought John felt the same way. But as the conversation began, Sherlock realized this wasn’t what was on John’s mind at all.  


“So a week ago, Rosie told me she wanted a princess party for her birthday,” John said, conversationally.  


“Yes, I believe she mentioned that to me as well,” Sherlock replied  


“Did she? Oh, that’s interesting, because this morning she asked me whether the princess that’s coming to her party, because I was going to get an actress from one of those party companies, you know.”  


“Yes I believe you warned me not to say anything that would ruin that for the children.”  


“Yes, that’s right, but that won’t be an issue anymore,” John continued, sounding irritated now, “Because this morning Rosie asked me if this princess was going to be able to discuss life as a foreign dignitary and affairs of state. And when I said no, the princess would probably just sing some songs and play some games, Rosie said she wasn’t interested in a princess that wasn’t historically accurate and if she couldn’t have that she wanted a science party.”  


Sherlock grinned, “Clever little girl, isn’t she?”  


“Did you start this?” John snapped, “Because I had a whole party planned and it’s got to get completely re-planned in less than 48 hours now.”  


“I just thought that Rosie should understand that, historically, princesses, and even more so queens, weren’t always just there to look pretty, they actually had a role to play in running their countries, when men didn’t get in the way… And I may have turned her toward a few particularly influential women scientists, but it’s just because I think she should have strong role models,” Sherlock explained, defensively.  


“Damn, I wish I could argue with that,” John sighed with defeat. “But I am still mad you ruined my princess party because it was going to be excellent,” he added but without any real anger.  


“Oh I don’t doubt it,” Sherlock laughed, “You’re an amazing father, John, I’m sure you went all out.”  


“You’re really good with her too you know, with Rosie, she really likes you.”  


“I’m glad, she’s a remarkable child, I’m sure her taste in adults is very astute.”  


John chuckled at this, “Seriously though, I’m a bit at my wits end trying to plan a science party, whatever that means in time for Saturday, do you think you could help at all, if you don’t have a case?”  


“I’d love to, but just to be clear, are dangerous chemicals and real human body parts all considered off limits?”  


“Yes, Sherock this is a kids party!” John cried but he laughed too.  


“Right and no bones either?”  


John sighed. “Why did I ask you to help again?”  
                ***************************************  


“Right so baking soda volcanoes, and making slime, you’re sure they’ll like this?” John said nervously, looking at the supplies laid out in his backyard.  


Sherlock grinned at him, it was cute really, how much he cared about making Rosie’s birthday perfect. John really was a good father. “They’re six year olds, John, they’ll eat it up,” Sherlock assured him.  


“Right… Wait do you mean that literally? What if they actually try to eat it? Is this slime toxic?”  


“Not sure actually, but perhaps we’ll find out,” Sherlock winked and kissed him, before turning and heading into the house. “Come on, the guests are supposed to be here soon, right?”  


“Yes, but Sherlock that’s not a funny joke, ok no encouraging the children to eat the slime. This party is not a space for experiments in child psychology, do you understand me?!” John yelled, following him into the house.  


Sherlock turned around and grabbed John, by the shoulders, “John, it is wonderfully sweet that you care so much about this party, but really why are you so worried? It’s going to be fine.”  


“I know… It’s just that I get worked up sometimes, I have to be her mum and her dad, you know? I have to bake the cake and pick up all the decorations and on a regular basis I have to cook and pick up and also go to work and I just worry sometimes that I can’t do it all well enough.”  


“What are you talking about? John you care so much about her and it shows, really, and what’s more is she knows you care, whether the party or the cake or whatever is perfect or not,” Sherlock pulled John into a hug, and they stood their for a moment, before John broke the embrace.  


“Oh my God, the cake!” John cried.  


“What about it?”  


“We never got one! After I cancelled the castle cake order we never got a new cake, oh my God Sherlock, there are a dozen six year olds about to arrive at our home and we have no cake.” John started pacing back and forth nervously.  


“Alright calm down, we can solve this,” Sherlock said, taking John’s hand to get him to hold still. Just then, Rosie burst into the room.  


“Daddy, Sherlock look, I’m all ready for the party,” she cried. She was dressed in a bright floral sundress and over that were a child-sized lab coat and a pair of safety goggles that barely stayed on her face for they were much too big. They both melted at the sight of her, so excited, so proud, and God how fast she was growing up.  


“You look amazing, sweetheart,” said John, scooping her up.  


“You get the party started, I’ll go find us a cake,” Sherlock whispered. “Chocolate, I know,” he added, before John had time to say anything. He really does have a good memory when it counts, John thought. You could never enter a trivia championship with him, but if you meant something to him, Sherlock Holmes would remember all your likes and dislikes.  


“Thank you,” John called after him, as Sherlock rushed out the door.  
                    *************************  


“So overall, I would call that a success,” said Sherlock as he helped John tidy up that evening, post party. A dozen six year olds could certainly trash a house.  


“Yes,” John agreed. “I think Rosie loved it.”  


“Much more original than a princess party too,” Sherlock added.  


John laughed. “True, but I think there will be some similar parties coming up, some of those parents looked like they were taking mental notes.”  


“Can you do that?” Sherlock asked. “Can you just copy someone’s party idea? Isn’t that against the parent code or something?”  


“Parenting is a cut throat world my friend,” John replied.  


They cleaned in silence for a moment then Sherlock asked, “Is that why you were so worried about this party? Because you’re on your own with Rosie and you feel like you have something to prove, not just to her but to the rest of the world?”  


John didn’t answer at first and Sherlock wondered if he shouldn’t have brought it up. “It’s not just that,” John said finally. “I didn’t want to tell you this, because I didn’t want to hurt your feelings, but since we started dating, in the last month or so, I’ve spent so much time with you… I’ve never left Rosie with a sitter so often, and I was feeling a bit bad about it,” he admitted.  


“Oh,” Sherlock replied. He looked completely deflated and he’d been so happy before about the success of the party; John immediately regretted saying anything.  


“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean…” John rushed over and took Sherlock’s hand. “Please don’t be mad. You didn’t do anything wrong and this isn’t about you, you’ve been perfect, helping out with the party and everything with us, it’s all great. This is just something I have to figure out, the balance of it all.”  


“I’m not mad but you did mean it John and whether or not you meant to, it does hurt to hear you say you don’t think you should be spending so much time with me,” Sherlock said. He wasn’t angry; he wasn’t even being cold; he just sounded small and hurt, like a wounded animal. John squeezed his hand tightly but then Sherlock pulled it away. He walked toward the door and started putting on his coat.  


“Wait, don’t go, please,” John begged.  


“I’ve got to,” Sherlock replied. “Rosie will be done with her bath soon and you’ll have to put her to bed. “Good night, John, I’m glad the party was such a success.” And with that he left.  
   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to end it like this but that's where this story's going and fair warning sometimes things get darker before they get better...


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this is a short chapter but the next two will be longer. There's big drama coming!

“So I’m forgiven?” John asked sweetly.  


“Mostly,” Sherlock replied coyly.  


“But if we get dessert?”  


“If we get dessert then perhaps I will have had enough time to consider forgiving you entirely.”  


“Perfect, because I hear this place has great cheesecake.”  


Sherlock chuckled at this.  


“I really am sorry, you know,” John said more seriously. “It just came out all wrong and I didn’t mean it the way it sounded. You, being with you like this, having a relationship with you, it’s one of the best things… I mean I haven’t been this happy in years. I mean really-,” John sputtered.  


Sherlock reached across the table and took John’s hand in his, cutting him off. “I know John, I know. Me too,” Sherlock said softly.  


They just sat there like that for a moment, smiling at each other, a tinge of sadness lurking just outside the glowing happiness of their world together. They were two men who had been through so much, who still carried so much pain, and yet they had found each other and together they had found love and joy.  


“Oi, John!” A voice called over from across the restaurant, breaking the moment. John quickly pulled his hand out of Sherlock’s as Molly and Mike Stamford walked over from the entrance.  


“Wouldn’t have expected to see you two here,” Mike said. John and Sherlock just looked at each other, neither sure how to respond. Mike and Molly stood there for a moment, smiling, Mike’s arm draped around her waist.  


“Is it a special occasion?” Molly asked, curiously.  


Sherlock looked at John, should he tell them the truth? But John’s face was so full of fear and nerves. No, now was not the time.  


“We were meeting a client, about a case,” Sherlock replied calmly. “The restaurant was a special request on her part.”  


“O, well she must be rather well-to-do; it’s a nice place,” Molly said, then she glanced down at the table and the two place settings on it. “Didn’t she order anything?”  


“The, uh, the waiters…” John stammered.  


“She left a bit ago and the waiters already cleared her place,” Sherlock quickly supplied a clearer excuse.  


“Right…” Molly looked at the two of them suspiciously.  


“She’s royalty,” John said, suddenly finding his voice. “The client, she’s foreign royalty.”  


Sherlock gave him an annoyed glance. What the bloody hell was he thinking coming up with a stupid lie like that? Now, of course they were going to ask-  


“Really? What country’s she from?” Mike questioned.  


Right on cue.  


“Err…” John was looking scared again.  


“We really can’t say, she wants to keep this under wraps and we’ve probably already said too much,” Sherlock replied.  


“O well, if you need any extra help, I’m around. A case for royalty, what fun!” Molly smiled.  


“Thank you Molly, we appreciate that,” said Sherlock.  


“Alright, well I ‘spose we’ll leave you two it then,” Mike smiled and began to lead Molly off toward another table.  


“You two enjoy your date,” Sherlock called as the couple walked off with a wave.  


“Do you think they suspect anything?” John whispered nervously after Molly and Mike were seated at their table and out of earshot.  


“No, of course not, because you acted so calmly and naturally and gave them no reason to wonder what was really going on,” Sherlock replied with ample sarcasm. John just glared at him in response. “You do realize we will eventually have to tell them,” Sherlock added. And would that really be so bad? Or is John perhaps embarrassed by me? Not that I would blame him if he is…  


“I know, and I want to tell them, I do. Just not yet,” John sighed. He wished he could make Sherlock understand that this was not to do with him, this was just something John needed to work through. He needed to get used to the idea of their relationship before he was ready to share it with everyone else. After years on his own, this was all felt so new and it was a good new, but it still took getting used to.  


“I just want this relationship to be ours, just ours for a little bit before we have to share it with everyone. I want us to figure out us, before we have to explain it to all our friends, you know?”  


“What’s there to explain?” Sherlock asked, as kindly as he could. They were dating, it was a pretty simple concept.  


“I don’t know Sherlock,” John was sounding tired and slightly exasperated, even though he didn’t really mean or want to; he wasn’t angry and he didn’t want Sherlock to think he was. “I think maybe we should go away, just for a couple nights. You, me and Rosie, to the ocean maybe, I don’t know, just have a little time to ourselves, to be ourselves. And then maybe we’ll tell everybody when we get back, eh?” John suggested hopefully.  


“I think that sounds like a wonderful idea,” Sherlock agreed. “We can tell everyone it’s for the case, the one for the foreign royal,” he teased.  


“Lay off, I was nervous ok?” John pouted, but he did so with a smile and they both then. And somehow they both knew things would work out. Perhaps a weekend away would do them some good.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John Sherlock and Rosie head to the beach for a weekend away... but there's some rocky seas ahead...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Unlucky chapter number 13... this one's a doozy and not in a fun way... lots of angst... you've been warned... but please stick with it through the next couple chapters because I'm really all about the fluff and lovey stuff and there's more of that on it's way!

They rented a cottage by the seaside for the weekend, and drove out after picking up Rosie from school. On the drive over Rosie excitedly outlined her plans for swimming in the ocean.  


“It might be a bit cold for swimming,” John warned his daughter. He looked in the rearview mirror and saw her pouting face.  


“There’s plenty of other fun things to do,” Sherlock assured her.  


“Like what?”  


“We could build a sand castle,” John offered.  


“Sand castles are for babies,” Rosie sulked.  


“Oh I don’t about that,” Sherlock said, pulling out his mobile. “Look at this, Rosie.” He turned around in the passenger seat and showed her a photo online on his phone of an intricate sand sculpture from some competition or other.  


“Woah.” Rosie was awed. “Well if we make something like that sand castles are alright I suppose,” she agreed.  


John smiled and glanced sideways at Sherlock sitting next to him. “Are you setting us up for sand sculpting disappointment?”  


“It will certainly be a challenge,” Sherlock admitted. “But I think we’re up for it.”  
***********************  


It turned out they were really not up for the challenge at all, but they enjoyed attempting sand artistry nonetheless. They had gotten early the next morning and had a light breakfast of pastries John had driven into town and picked up at a cafe. Then they’d headed straight to the beach. It was chilly out and the brisk wind only made it worse so the beach was fairly deserted, but they dressed warmly and enjoyed hours playing in the sand.  


“I’m hungry,” Rosie whined at last.  


“Well, then I think it’s time for lunch,” John said. “Come on you.” He knelt down and his daughter happily jumped onto his back for a piggy back ride.  


“Do I get a turn next?” Sherlock teased as they walked back up the beach.  


“No,” Rosie cried playfully. “He’s my daddy!”  


“Sorry, guess I’m taken,” John whispered with a wink.  
************************  


After they’d changed into less sandy clothes, they headed into town for lunch and then strolled the main street.  


“Candy shop?” John suggested, gesturing toward a pink and white striped awning just up the street.  


“Yes!” Rosie squealed as she rushed down the street.  


“Rosie, don’t run!” John called, but when she didn’t listen, he simply let her go. He was glad to see her so happy and carefree. He had felt lately that Rosie seemed more grown up than most children her age and it made him smile to see his daughter acting with the glee of any other six year old.  


Sherlock and John entered the candy shop which was packed with people.  


“Where’d she get off to?” John asked looking around for Rosie’s blonde head.  


“I’ll see her; I’ll go get her” Sherlock assured him. “You go get us some chocolates.”  


John agreed and Sherlock walked over to where Rosie was pursuing bins of brightly colored taffies.  


“We thought we’d lost you there,” Sherlock scolded her, ruffling her curls. “Don’t run off like that, alright?”  


Rosie nodded, but she was clearly more focused on the candy selection.  


“Hello dear, would you like to try a taffy?” A sales girl in a cheery pink uniform shirt approached Rosie and offered her a basket of samples.  


Can I?” Rosie asked, looking hopefully up at Sherlock for approval. He grinned and nodded.  


“Thank you,” Rosie told the sales girl.  


“You’re very welcome.”  


“Why don’t you fill up a bag with some taffy to share?” Sherlock told Rosie. “Make sure you get all the good flavors,” he added with a smile.  


Rosie didn’t need telling twice.  


“She’s a very sweet little girl, most kids don’t ask their parents if it’s okay to take a sample, they just grab a handful and don’t even say thank you,” the sales girl commented to Sherlock.  


“Oh she’s not my… I mean she’s my… My boyfriend’s daughter,” Sherlock replied. Why didn’t I just say thank you and leave it at that? Now I’ve embarrassed the poor girl, he thought. And more than that why did the word ‘boyfriend’ just slipt out of my mouth? That was what John was though, and it certainly did feel good to say it. It fit, it felt right, in the same way that it felt right that they were here, taking this trip as a family, or at least a sort of family.  


“Oh, I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have assumed,” the girl said quickly, blushing. “Well… either way.” She then hurried off to pass out more samples.  


“What was that all about?” John asked, watching the now nervous sales girl rush off.  


“She thought I was Rosie’s father, and she was a bit embarrassed when I corrected her,” Sherlock explained. He smiled playfully at John and took his hand, “I said she was my boyfriend’s daughter.”  


“Are we using that word in public now?” John asked, attempting to sound casual but failing.  


“What word?”  


“Boyfriend.”  


“Well what word would you use otherwise John?” Sherlock asked coldly. He pulled his hand away and put it in his pocket. Was John ashamed to acknowledge their relationship in public?  


“Oh stop it, I didn’t mean it like that,” John snapped. “I thought we talked about this and we were going to take a little time to ourselves before we started telling people,” he continued, more calmly.  


“I thought that’s what this weekend was. I thought here, away from the rest of our lives, we were going to be ourselves, together, as a couple,” said Sherlock quietly, almost dejected.  


“Well yes but… Not like that… I mean Rosie’s here and she doesn’t know and I want to tell her before she figures it out. And you know her it wouldn’t take much to tip her off.” John was backpedaling and it wasn’t going well. How were they actually having this fight under their breath in the middle of a candy shop?  


“Why don’t you just tell her, then, why wait?” Sherlock shot back, half angry half offended that John felt they needed to keep this from his daughter. Sherlock had always thought Rosie was fond of him. Didn’t John himself said I was good with Rosie? Sherlock thought. But perhaps this was something John only acknowledged grudgingly. Perhaps he thinks I might be a bad influence if I'm around Rosie too much, Sherlock worried.  


“She’s my daughter Sherlock, I’ll tell her when it’s the right time and the right time is not in the middle of a damn candy shop!” John fumed, trying to keep his voice low, and his posture calm. They locked eyes for a moment, angry and hurt, neither wanting to speak and make the situation worse.  


“I’m getting Rosie, paying for our sweets and we’re leaving,” John said finally. How could he explain to Sherlock that his feelings were as strong as ever he just wanted the moment to be right when they told other people, especially Rosie. After all, for practically her entire life it had just been her and her dad, another person in the picture could be a lot to adjust to for her. John just wanted to be cautious especially with Rosie, he wanted, no he needed her to accept and be happy about his and Sherlock’s relationship. Rosie had to be his first priority, that’s what being a parent meant, so if she didn’t like the idea of him and Sherlock together they might have to hold off on things, as much as that would tear John apart. He knew Rosie adored Sherlock so he knew this could work, the morning on the beach had proved that. They had been the family he’d always wanted, or a version of that at least. He just needed to break the news to Rosie carefully so she would see it that way too.  


As they were leaving the shop John took Sherlock’s hand in his. “I’m sorry,” he whispered tenderly in Sherlock’s ear.  


“It’s alright John, we’ll talk about it later.”  
********************  


Before they went back to the cottage, Sherlock stopped by a local market and picked up groceries to make dinner. John tried to convince him that cooking was not a part of vacation and they should be eating out but Sherlock insisted he didn’t cook often and this was something he wanted to do. John wondered if this was some attempt to make up for the fight earlier, in which case he felt he should be the one cooking the apology meal. In truth, Sherlock just wanted to put that behind them and return to the loving family mood that had surrounded them that morning at the beach.  


The dinner conversation had started off a bit stilted, the wounds of the fight earlier were still stinging, but both Sherlock and John were trying to return to normalcy and with Rosie there as a buffer the atmosphere quickly lightened. By the end of the meal they were both laughing and smiling genuinely. And after eating dinner (spaghetti bolognese) John had to admit it was delicious and he was very glad Sherlock had felt like making dinner. as Rosie was sent to take a bath after their meal, while John helped Sherlock with the washing up.  


“I really am impressed,” John said again, washing off the last bowl. “I had no idea you could cook like that.”  


“There’s no need to sound so surprised.” Sherlock took the bowl and dried it.  


“Where did you learn that though? It tasted like a real Italian pasta.”  


“Let’s see if you can guess,” Sherlock replied mischievously as he started to put the dishes back in the cupboards. “Did it remind you of something?”  


“Remind me of something?” John questioned and then it hit him. “Angelo’s!”  


“Excellent, John,” Sherlock smiled. “Angelo seems to feel he will forever be indebted to me and thus when I asked him to teach me a simple classic dish he agreed.”  


“Well, you’re clearly a quick study. Even Rosie cleared her plate.”  


“John your praise is too great,” Sherlock walked over to Jon and kissed him lightly on the cheek.  


“Credit where credit is due, Mr Holmes,” John countered, wrapping his arms around the other man’s hips.  


Sherlock smiled and kissed John again, on the lips this time. “You certainly know how to flatter a man doctor.”  


John grinned and leaned up to kiss Sherlock again, and this kiss was not a short one. Lips met again and again. Tongues entwined. When they broke apart John had the sort of warm, dazed feeling of waking from a good dream. Sherlock directed a smoldering grin down at him, but then suddenly his expression changed. He frowned and stepped back from John, who turned around to see his daughter standing in the kitchen door.  


“Rosie,” John choked. His brain was running on overdrive, struggling to come up with what to say to explain to his daughter what it was she had just witnessed. Or perhaps she hadn’t seen anything, perhaps they had simply been standing there in each other's’ arms when Rosie came to the door.  


“Why were you kissing?” Rosie asked blankly.  


Right, so she saw everything. Now what do I say, how do I recover from this?, John thought, but Sherlock was way ahead of him.  


“Because we’re in love, dear,” he told her carefully. “We were going to tell you, but we wanted to wait for the right time.” Sherlock knelt down then so he was on Rosie’s level. “How do you feel about that, Rosie? It’s ok if you’re surprised.”  


Rosie thought for a moment. “That’s nice,” she said finally. “I love you both. I’m going to bed now. Will you come tuck me in, Daddy?” She directed this last question at her father who was standing stock still, watching the scene with shock and anger.  


“Yes, of course love,” John managed to say calmly. “You go get in bed and I’ll be right there.”  


Rosie smiled and hurried back down the hall. Once she’d disappeared, Sherlock stood back up and turned to John. “I think that went fairly well,” Sherlock said seeming pleased.  


“You think that went well?” John fumed. “What the bloody hell came over you Sherlock? You just blurted it out! You had no right-”  


“John she’d already seen us,” Sherlock argued evenly.  


“Yes but you didn’t have to say it so... so bluntly.” John was trying very hard to control the volume of his voice so Rosie wouldn’t hear them “She’s my daughter, Sherlock, not yours. It should’ve been up to me to explain that to her.”  


“She seemed to take it well though.”  


“That’s not the point and anyway I’m sure she’s feeling more upset than she said.”  


“Why?” Sherlock asked, finally sounding angry too now. “Because her father was kissing some crazy sociopath.”  


“I didn’t say that, that’s not it, it’s just…” John ran out of steam halfway through this retort. He was actually sure now what he thought it was about this scene that would be so upsetting for Rosie. Surprising yes, but Sherlock was right, she’d seemed to have gotten over that quite quickly and at that young age, children were usually not masters of hiding their emotions.  


“Or is that how you feel about me, John, not your daughter, but you?” Sherlock spit this question at him bitterly. And of course it is what he thinks, said a cruel little voice in Sherlock’s head. Who could ever love someone like him?  


“No,” John shot back, his brain was spinning again, trying to comprehend all he was feeling and put it into words that would make sense. The most important thing right now, John told himself, was to make Sherlock see that he did love him. That was not at all confusing. “No Sherlock I don’t think that,” John’s voice was softer now.  


“I don’t want to discuss this any further John. I’m getting my things and calling a cab,” Sherlock only had a small shred of anger left and he used it to give this final declaration some defiant dignity. The self pity and self loathing that was filling his heart, he kept hidden to himself.  


“No,” John said, feeling both exhaustion and the sudden desire to cry. But his weak protest did no good, as he knew it wouldn’t. Sherlock left the kitchen, and not knowing what else to do, John went to tell his daughter goodnight.  


Sherlock packed quickly and left the house without saying a word. He didn’t shed a single tear, which half surprised him and half didn’t. He’d spent many long years training himself not to show emotion, and not to dwell on it because it was a weakness that lead to situations like this. John loved him, of that Sherlock was sure, but it also seemed clear John was ashamed and embarrassed by his feelings, why else would he want to hide them? And Sherlock could understand, when he looked at himself he couldn’t find much to be proud of either. He waited outside in the cold for the cab and thought about how lovely it would be if the wind could reach inside and numb his heart, just as it was numbing his fingers.  


John returned to the kitchen once he’d seen to Rosie. He wasn’t sure why he wasn’t rushing in and stopping Sherlock from leaving by force, perhaps he wanted to avoid more of a scene in front of his daughter. Perhaps he thought Sherlock deserved some space if that’s what he wanted. Perhaps he felt that the awful loneliness and guilt that was building inside him as Sherlock packed was what he deserved. John went to the cupboard, intending to get himself a glass for some water water, but he found a half empty bottle of whiskey on a high shelf in the and decided this was a more appropriate drink for the occasion.  
***********************  


John sat on the couch hours later, elbows on knees, head in his hands. It was past midnight and he hadn’t slept a wink. He could feel a headache coming on, the whiskey would be partly to blame. He was screwing this all up. He finally had another chance at happiness and he was ruining it by making Sherlock think he didn’t love him, which was the farthest thing from the truth. How on earth was he going to patch things up after this? He heard tiny footsteps enter room and after a moment Rosie climbed up and sat on the couch next to him.  


"Rosie what're you doing up? You should go back to sleep."  


“You know it’s ok, right?” she asked.  


John sighed, when Rosie wanted to tell you something there was no putting it off. But he loved that about her, she was like her mother, headstrong and determined. “What’s alright, sweetheart?” he replied.  


“That you love him,” she said simply, her big blue eyes looked up at him. “Jimmy Hester from school has two dads and they love each other and that’s ok. Two men or two women can fall in love and it’s ok and if anybody doesn’t think it’s ok, they’re a right arse,” Rosie said firmly.  


“That’s not a very nice word, Rosie,” John scolded.  


“But sometimes it fits,” Rosie argued. “And if anybody isn’t ok with you and Sherlock being in love they’re a right arse,” she declared. “I think he’s wonderful and if he loves you and you love him, that’s good because being in love makes people happy, and I want to be happy, Daddy,” she said fiercely.  


“Oh, I know that sweetheart,” John said tenderly, hugging her. God, she was only six, when did she get so wise and sure of herself? “It’s just a little complicated sometimes,” John tried to explain.  


“But it isn’t, if you love each other, you should be together, so tell him to come back,” Rosie pleaded, breaking their embrace.  


“I’ll talk to him tomorrow when we get home,” John assured her. “You know this doesn’t change the fact that you are the most important thing in my life, right? Even more, than Sherlock, even more than myself,” John his daughter very seriously.  


“And you’re the most important thing in my life,” Rosie said, wrapping her tiny arms around him in another hug.  


“Oh sweetheart what did I do to deserve you?” John whispered, kissing her on the top of the head. “And this doesn’t mean I didn’t love your mum,” he added. “I did love her, very much and I miss her. You remind me of her a lot actually.”  


“Do I?” Rosie asked, pulling away slightly and smiling up at him brightly.  


“Yeah, you do. You’re brilliant Rosie, and so was she.”  


“Well Sherlock’s pretty brilliant too,” Rosie replied.  


“Yes,” John said with a laugh, “Yes he is.”  
******************************  


John checked his mobile again, but there was only another missed call from Mycroft. Damn, that man was good at keeping an eye on people. But there was no word yet from Sherlock, John had texted and called and he was starting to get worried, but if he had to he would just show up at Baker St in person and beg forgiveness. Rosie was upstairs getting her things together so it wouldn’t be long before they left for London.  


John’s phone buzzed just then, a call, but it was only Mycroft. John it picked up with a frustrated sigh. “You’re always so on top of things, aren’t you Mycroft? To answer your question, yes we’ve had a row, and yes it was partially my fault but it was partially his fault too. It happens, couples fight, it’s healthy. And anyway, I’m on my way back to town now, I’ll apologize, he’ll apologize, or at least I hope so, and it’ll all be water under the bridge. So you don’t need to worry, but thanks anyway for the call,” John said, his annoyance over Mycroft’s intrusion growing throughout his little speech.  


“Well, thank you for filling me in on that, John, it does make things a bit clearer, but what I actually called to tell you was that Sherlock is in the hospital. He’s overdosed. I’ll give you the address if you’d like to come join us here,” Mycroft’s voice sounded worn out and thin.  


John immediately regretted everything he’d said, as all the shock and fear that came with the news began to fill his body and make him feel slightly light headed. “Is he going to be alright?” John managed to ask.  


Mycroft was silent, which John did not find encouraging and his fear started to escalate. “Just come John and you’ll see. Get a pen, I’m giving you the hospital name now.”  


John jotted down the name of the hospital and hung up the phone. “Rosie,” he called. “You need to come right now sweetie, we have to go right now.”  


“You said right now twice, what’s wrong?” Rosie asked, coming down the hall.  


God she was sharp. “Something’s happened sweetie and Sherlock’s in the hospital. We’re going to go see him though, and he’ll be okay,” John assured his daughter. As they headed out the door, he silently prayed that was right.


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The dreaded hospital waiting room... but Sherlock will pull through... won't he?  
> ***Warning that this one is somewhat intense so if that might bug you, just skip to the end notes, I'll summarize it***  
> Also don't hate me for the inaccuracies that I'm sure exist in me rendering of this situation...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> God sorry for making you all wait for this, I know that was a terrible thing to do to such lovely readers.

“John,” Mrs. Hudson threw her arms around him as he approached the group in the hospital waiting room, Rosie in tow. Mike and Molly were sitting side by side, Mycroft was leaned against the wall and Lestrade was pacing back and forth.  


“Do we know anything yet?” John asked immediately.  


Mycroft shook his head. “We’ve been warned it might be a bit of a wait.”  


“Right,” John sighed. His nerves had been on edge at the start of the drive, he’d speeded the whole way to the hospital, coming straight from the cottage and now was feeling even more worse for wear.  


“Perhaps I’d best take Rosie home, eh love?” Mrs. Hudson suggested. “You’ll give a ring when you find anything out?”  


John nodded, “Yeah, thanks Mrs H.”  


“Of course dear.” She took Rosie’s hand. “Alright Rosie, say goodbye to everyone, they’ll call when the doctor tells them how Sherlock’s doing.”  


“I want to stay and see Sherlock,” Rosie objected.  


“We can’t see him right now, Rosie,” John said, kneeling down beside his daughter. “But I’ll be home tonight and we can both come back and see him tomorrow.” He hugged his daughter fiercely, suddenly feeling the need to hold the people who mattered most to him very close. “I love you so much, and so does Sherlock, he’ll tell you himself tomorrow.” John held his daughter by her shoulders and looked her right in the eye. “Alright?”  


“Alright,” Rosie nodded seriously.  


With Rosie and Mrs. Hudson departed, John walked over and collapsed into the chair beside Molly, taking his own head in his hands.  
“This is all my fault,” he cried.  


“Don’t blame yourself.” Molly rested her hand on his shoulder.  


“No but it is,” John insisted. “He did this because we had a row and I said some things that were bang out of order.” He paused. “And it was all because I didn’t want to tell everyone we’ve been dating, and I don’t even know way I was so worried over it anymore”  


“It’s alright,” Molly assured him. “Everyone has rows sometimes. He’ll forgive you. He loves you, John, really.”  


“It’s true.” Mike nodded. “Molly and I have had our rows and we’ve gotten through them.”  


“What if, what if he doesn’t get a chance to forgive me though?” John looked up and the fear that he’d been trying to avoid thinking about threatened to overwhelm him.  


“He’ll pull through,” Mycroft sighed. “He always does. I’ve been here before.”  


“Mycroft’s right,” Lestrade agreed. “Sherlock’s a tough bloke.”  


John just shook his head. Molly squeezed his shoulder comfortingly.  


They sat in silence for what seemed like ages and then Mycroft spoke out of the blue.  


“I’ll never forget the first time this happened. I sat in the waiting room alone for hours. That was decades ago but I’ll never forget how anxious I felt, worrying if he would be alright.”  


“Well you aren’t alone tonight, mate,” Greg said, patting him on the arm.  


“Are we mates now?” Mycroft asked, surprised. His response was so cold and harsh in comparison to Greg’s attempt at kindness that Greg chuckled slightly in spite of himself.  


“I reckon after this night together, yeah, we’re all mates now,” he replied.  


The silence that followed was a nervous one still but there was a sense of solidarity now. Time passed and Molly leaned over onto Mike’s lap and began to drift off to sleep.  


“She’s been overworking herself the past couple of days,” Mike explained. “I think we’d better go perhaps. You’ll let us know if you get any update?”  


“Of course,” Lestrade assured them.  


After Mike and Molly had departed they waited a while longer before the nurse finally approached.  


“You’re here for Sherlock Holmes?” the nurse asked as she approached.  


“Yes,” John replied nervously, standing immediately and stiffly, almost as if he were standing at attention.  


“He’s stable now, but he’s resting. We’ve done what we can for him, and the next few days won’t be pleasant but he’ll pull through. You can go and see him if you’d like, first room on the left, 115.” She looked over the pages on the clipboard she was holding and then walked over to another group in the waiting area.  


“I’ll be going then. I know from experience I won’t be wanted here,” Mycroft said dryly, his voice only just showing his tiredness and relief at the good news.  


“Are you sure?” Lestrade asked.  


“Quite.” Mycroft turned and headed towards the exit.  


“Well then I suppose I’d probably best be off too,” Lestrade said. “I’ll call Molly. We’ll all come by tomorrow, but you two can have a moment to yourselves today.”  


“Thanks Greg.”  


“Tell him you love him. Tell him you love him and you’re sorry. It’ll be alright.”  


John nodded and then walked over to the room the nurse had indicated was Sherlock’s.  


John looked at Sherlock lying in the hospital bed; he looked so pale and sick and small somehow. John’s heart just broke in that moment. He let out a little half sob, half gasp, and fell to his knees by the bed, taking Sherlock’s hand in both of his.  


“Please Sherlock, I don’t deserve it, but please for the love of God forgive me,” he whispered.  


“John?”  


Sherlock’s eyes opened slowly.  


“Yes, yes, it’s me. I’m here and I’m so, so sorry, love, can you ever forgive me?” Tears were cascading down John’s face now. Just seeing Sherlock’s eyes looking into his, and the relief and the love John felt overwhelmed him.  


Sherlock’s hole body was exhausted, aching all over, but seeing John there, his gaze so full of love, made the pain seem unimportant.  


“If you forgive me for this,” Sherlock muttered.  


“There’s nothing to forgive, this was me, this was my being a complete arse and being afraid somehow of what I was finally getting to have. It won’t happen again.” John sniffed and tried to control his tears.  


“It’s alright,” Sherlock smiled softly. “I know.” Tears began welling up in his eyes too. “Come up here.” He patted the edge of the bed softly and scooted his body over as much as he could. John climbed up and lay down on his side on the edge of the bed, laying his arm over Sherlock’s chest, curling his body close to him.  


“I love you so much,” John whispered. “I don’t know what I would do without you.”  


“I love you too.”  


This was not the first time Sherlock had let the drugs get the better of him but, he realized, this was the first time it felt like it mattered. Before it had felt like the possibility of ending his life accidentally with an overdose wasn’t that great of a risk because everyone would move on; it might be hard but they could manage. Now though, now he had a family of sorts, and he couldn’t leave John and Rosie alone again.  


“I won’t let this happen again either,” he said softly but seriously. “I’m going to get help. I’ll beat this for you and Rosie, I’ve never had a reason to really try to kick the habit but you’ve given me one now.”  


John kissed him on the cheek. “Being your reason is the greatest honor I could wish for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Sherlock's alright, he and John have made up and he's promised to kick the drugs, whatever it takes... Also, am I sensing something might just be starting to brew between Mycroft and Greg??


End file.
